


Illusion

by dawnstruck



Category: Almost Human, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crossover, Gen, M/M, Memory Loss, Plot-heavy, questionable science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 00:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1367341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstruck/pseuds/dawnstruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2255, Doctor Leonard McCoy unwillingly sets out to join Starfleet. He's got an ex-wife he can't seem to remember, a constant unexplained feeling of anger, and the suspicion that something in his life is not quite right.<br/>In 2260, the Enterprise picks up an unregistered cruiser, piloted by someone who is not quite human, but no alien either.<br/>All because two-hundred years earlier, Detective John Kennex got himself in some serious trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doctor McCoy

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this when we were half-way through the season and then I set it aside for a while. Now I got new inspiration and because there is a serious lack of fanwork in the Almost Human fandom, I decided to share.  
> Titel is rather uncreatively stolen from the VNV Nation song, but when I looked it up I realized that the lyrics actually fit really well to the story, so I'm gonna include the lines at the beginning of each chapter.  
> It's not yet finished, but I got several chapters planned, and as I am going for a more fragmented style the writing should go rather quickly.  
> Feedback is appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is so... out of focus. Tilted to the side in a manner that is in no way caused by a hangover. And his bones they feel so heavy, so tired, the only thing real in this world that seems to be moving too fast.

_"I know it's hard to tell how mixed up you feel_  
Hoping what you need is behind every door   
Each time you get hurt, I don't want you to change   
Because everyone has hopes, you're human after all"

  
  


**2255 – RIVERSIDE, IOWA**

  
He's lost everything in the divorce. Everything.

  
The house, the practice, and any right of custody he had for Joanna.

  
His head aches. He's been drinking for the past... hours? Days? Actually, the drinking was probably one of the things Jocelyn had listed as one of the many reasons why he was such a crappy husband and father.

  
The details are kind of fuzzy.

  
A few things he knows for sure, though. His name is Leonard McCoy and he is a damn fine Doctor. He's spent his entire life in Georgia and now he is off to bloody Frisco to join Starfleet with a bunch of starry-eyed teenagers who think space is just one big adventure.

  
The shuttle-craft is filled with them, chattering excitedly about the stupid new flagship that's out there in the shipyard. All they see is a majestic example of humanity's technological progress. All he sees is a giant metal tomb. Hundreds of people lose their lives on ships like that all the time and he'll soon be one of the poor idiots trying to prevent that.

 

He's causing a scene, he knows.

  
The stewardess – do you call them stewardess when they are military personnel? Anyway, the flight attendant forces him to take a seat and buckle up, and he reluctantly gives in.

  
He's gonna puke. Whether from the alcohol or the anxiety, but he's definitely gonna puke.

  
So that's what he tells the poor sod sitting next to him.

  
“I may throw up on you,“ he warns because that's a good way to start a conversation.

  
The boy – because really, how old is he, fifteen? - flicks his eyes around as if surprised that he'd be addressed by the maniac.

  
“I think these things are pretty safe,“ he replies, a small quirk to his mouth.

  
With a glance McCoy notes that the two of them are the only ones not wearing Starfleet uniforms. Instead, the boy's got dried specks of blood all over the front of his shirt. His own blood, judging by the bruises and cuts littering his face. Probably an even more spontaneous sign-up than McCoy's.

  
“Dont pander to me, kid,“ he growls because the other obviously has no idea what is expecting them, “One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. A solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait till you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles. See if you're still so relaxed if your eyeballs are bleeding. Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence.“

  
The kid is silent for a few moments, probably just realizing that he got himself in deep, deep trouble.

  
“Well, I hate to break this to you but Starfleet operates in space,“ he points out instead, looking at McCoy likes he's the one who didn't think this through.

  
“Yeah, well, I got nowhere else to go,“ he admits, “The ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce. All I got left is my bones.“

  
And it truly feels that way. Everything is so... out of focus. Tilted to the side in a manner that is in no way caused by a hangover. And his bones they feel so heavy, so tired, the only thing real in this world that seems to be moving too fast.

  
He pulls out his flask and takes another gulp of whiskey. The burn down his throat is bitter but familiar. In an unexpected bout of camaraderie, he offers the flask to the other man who readily accepts it.

  
“Jim Kirk,“ he introduces himself and that name rings a bell somehow, like it's someone he should know.

  
“McCoy,“ he answers and shakes the kid's hand, “Leonard McCoy.“

  
He feels like his own name should mean something to him, too, but for some reason it doesn't.

 

San Francisco is... not all bad.

  
Maybe he expected to miss rural Georgia with its wide planes and gruff people.

  
Here everything seems to be dunked in gray. The streets are made of concrete, the buildings made of chrome and the sky is a drizzly mess of clouds. The Academy grounds are buzzing with activity, like a beehive with everyone knowing exactly where they have to go and what they have to do. It's organized chaos, all cadet red and lieutenant charcoal, so Jim and McCoy stick together in order not to get lost.

  
In the end, they make an unspoken agreement and get a dorm room together.

  
Having a roommate is more commitment that McCoy feels ready to take so shortly after the divorce, but it's not like he has much of a choice.

  
In the evening, when they are both totally drained from the long journey and the eventful day, they prepare for bed. Jim seems to own nothing but the clothes on his back so McCoy mentally prepares himself for the inevitability of having to borrow the kid some underwear in the morning.

  
He steps out of his pants and throws them over a chair before sitting down and attaching the calibration device to his synthetic leg.

  
Jim glances over at the electronic noise and his gaze lingers a little too long.

  
'How'd you lose it?' he probably wants to ask, but even that messed up little idiot seems to know some basic manners.

  
'Car accident,' his memory supplies in the back of his head.

  
“Grenade,“ he says instead, his tone dry.

  
Strangely enough, it doesn't feel like a joke and Jim does not even fake a laugh.

  
When they turn off the light half an hour later and McCoy lies in bed, staring into the darkness, he attributes the unsettling sensation of feeling out of place to the unfamiliar smell of the sheets and Jim's snoring from the other side of the room.

 

 

Among the other first-year cadets, bubbly and motivated, he feels like an ancient relic, like someone dug his mummified body out of the sand and just planted him in-between living people.

  
He's about ten years older than his classmates and that's enough to put up a barrier between him and them.

  
He's never been the best at making friends and he knows it. He's too jaded and too angry, and most of the time he doesn't even know the cause. Getting Jim to stick around was kind of a fluke. The kid's not quite right in his head anyway and it's not like he can just request to get another roommate. So they are stuck with each other.

  
Leonard can't help but nag the boy. About his diet, his dating habits, his cockiness.

  
Jim Kirk stalks around like he fucking owns the place, Starfleet Headquarters and planet Earth included, but in the privacy of their room, he pulls all-nighters because he's paranoid about falling behind in his classes, paranoid that he'll be kicked out, paranoid that Captain Pike will call him to his office one day, just to say, 'Sorry, kid, I made a mistake with you.'

  
Jim doesn't talk much about his past and McCoy's fine with that because he doesn't really wanna talk either. They've both got a lot of baggage, but McCoy has his crap locked up so tight that if he'll ever try to pick it apart, everything will come spilling out and drown him.

  
So they don't talk about their past. But boy, does Jim talk about his future.

  
He wants to be a Captain, one day. He wants his own starship and he's got his sights set on the Enterprise, of course. He wants to explore all of space, no matter how often McCoy points out that that's not possible.

  
“And I want you to come with me, Bones“ Jim urges him whenever he's day-dreaming about the glorious times ahead of them, “You could be my CMO. Just imagine, new planets, new plants, new kinds of medicine. You'd be famous if you ever discovered anything special.“

  
“New planets, new diseases, new ways to die,“ McCoy counters easily, “You'd be dead if you ever caught anything fatal.“

  
Jim pouts, “You're such a spoilsport, Bones.“

  
“Too bad, kid,“ he huffs, “You go explore the solar system, I'll say down here and work at the hospital or at some minor space station. Send me a postcard sometime. I hear Rigel is beautiful this time of the year.“

  
“Screw you,“ Jim says, but he's laughing, “I've cured you of your aviophobia, I'll cure you of your intense dislike for all things space.“

  
“You haven't cured me of my aviophobia,“ McCoy corrects him, “I've just learned how to swallow my own vomit.“

  
“Ugh, gross, man,“ Jim pulls a face and flicks a french fry at him.

  
“Eat your salad, kid,“ McCoy says and closes his eyes, the familiar banter making him feel at home for the first time in a long while.

 

 

Jim calls him Bones for some childish reason.

  
The Doctor will never admit it out loud, but somehow he likes it because the stupid nickname feels more comfortable than 'McCoy' ever will, like 'Bones' is something that is truly him, truly his own.

 

 

**2258 – SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA**

  
Jim cheats at the Kobayashi Maru. Of course Jim cheats at the Kobayashi Maru.

  
Jim would rather get kicked out of the Academy for cheating than failing a test that everyone else fails as well.

  
And of course, Jim, instead of getting the praise he expected, is called forward to a hearing.

  
McCoy is on edge. It's as if here were the one having to answer the questions, having to defend himself in front of that Vulcan.

  
The Vulcan, admittedly, has a point, but somehow McCoy feels like he's the one getting interrogated. It's stupid, of course.

  
Jim is seething, McCoy can see it. If anyone were giving him this kind of shit in any other situation, the kid would have thrown himself at the guy and throttled him. Alas, he cannot do that it this situation.

  
They argue back and forth, but before the hearing can come to a conclusion, it is interrupted by a distress call.

  
McCoy catches a glimpse of the worry flickering over the Vulcan's face when he hears that his home planet it in trouble, but he himself is not overly worried. He does not yet know that within the next few hours, all their lives will be turned upside down.

 

He goes back for Jim. Of course he goes back for Jim.

  
No one can resist those devastated baby blues and when McCoy glances back over his shoulder to see the boy standing there on his own, the bay awash with their fellow cadets rushing around, a sea of red and professionally contained excitement, he remembers Jim mentioning his mother and his brother in passing, shrugging it off like it's no big deal to be left behind by every godforsaken person you ever cared about.

  
Leonard McCoy will not just leave a friend behind, even if he might have to bend a few rules.

  
Turns out it's the best decision he's ever made.

 

 

There are dead people all over, their faces melted off from fire, their necks cracked because of a violent fall, their bodies pierced by lose pieces of metal.

  
McCoy thinks he shouldn't be so calm about this. Sure, he's a Doctor, and he got additional training by Starfleet, but this is a full blown battle and there's no way anyone can prepare you for this.

  
But suddenly he is made CMO by Pike because there's simply no one else around, and he's feeling somewhat disconnected from the events all around him, but at the same time he is so composed, so in control of himself. He thinks that maybe shock is already setting in or that the adrenalin is merely carrying him through the chaos for now.

  
But he looks around and there are people being carried in, dead and dying and wounded, and he feels more at home than a small town doctor from Georgia has any right to be.

 

 

Having M'Benga on board is one lucky coincidence. The Doctor is an expert on Vulcans and knows a thing or two about telepathy.

  
Some of the Vulcans they managed to save are physically injured and McCoy can generally help with that. But the deepest wounds are invisible and they don't have the means to heal them.

  
“Emotional shock can kill a Vulcan,“ M'Benga says with his low, deep voice, careful as if any noise might make the Vulcans retreat even further into themselves, “Millions just died. And each of the survivors has lost friends and family. Their telepathic bonds were brutally severed, all at once. It's worse than losing a limb. Their minds are fragile and in danger of shattering even more.“

  
McCoy rubs at the juncture where his stump meets his synthetic leg.

  
“Possible long-term damage?“ he asks.

  
“Overall mental instability. Inability to bond again or even meditate,“ M'Benga shrugs a little helplessly, “They will all need trained mind healers, but there won't be many left. I can merely theorize from what can be found in other species. Disjointed thoughts. Memory loss. Disorientation. Mood swings.“

  
McCoy thinks there should be something funny about imagining a Vulcan with mood swings, but given the situation there really is no reason to laugh.

  
Those Vulcans lost their families and their entire planet in a matter of seconds. And out there is shrapnel floating around, bits and pieces of the ships their fellow cadets served on. It's no surprise he feels kind of disoriented as well.

 

 

They get fucking medals and promotions and recommendations.

  
McCoy is permanently made CMO. Jim is made Captain. Of the Enterprise no less and, damn it, the brat was right. He's going to space and McCoy is going right with him.

 

 

He tries to call his ex-wife. They haven't spoken in three years and he's attempted to contact her in between, but she never answered.

  
Joanna must be seven by now. She probably barely remembers him. Maybe Jocelyn has found another guy, one who'll take her to fancy dinners and Joanna to the zoo. Joanna likes giraffes. At least that's what he thinks. He was never the most attentive father.

  
But he's got a holo of her and there she is playing with a stuffed giraffe. She's wearing a blue dress and messy pigtails. He can't remember when the holo was taken, but somehow it has overshadowed all other memories of her. It's like she was always this three-year old toddler, without being born, without crawling and toothing her way up to it first.

  
She didn't look like him, not back then, and he wonders whether that has changed, whether there's something about her that is totally him.

  
So that's what he wants to ask Jocelyn. _Does she look like me? Do you girls think of me now and again? Does she still like giraffes? Are you happy? Is your life better now that I'm gone?_

  
He wants to tell Joce about his medals, about how he is a respectable human being. He wants to tell her that he barely drinks anymore and never on the job. That he has friends and colleagues who admire him, that he maybe finally found his place he life.

  
He never tells her any of that, though, because she never answers his calls.

  
For the first time, it occurs to him that maybe he should just drop by, custody rights be damned. But when he looks up their former address, there's another family living there. When he searches through the city records online, he can't find any mention of them. It's as if they never existed.

  
He thinks that he must've really been an awful husband if Jocelyn hated him enough to completely disappear.

 

 

The blank-faced androids Starfleet occasionally uses make McCoy uncomfortable.

  
Jim doesn't like to rely too heavily on beings that can't quite make their own decisions, so thankfully there aren't too many aboard the Enterprise.

  
The few that are around are too white, too sterile to maintain even a semblance of humanity and McCoy wonders whether that makes it better or worse.

  
Once upon a time, androids were designed to be as similar to humans as possible. They've gone long since out of fashion, though, too fickle and unreliable.

  
They had programmed personalities, as if something like that could be created out of binary code and electronic circuits. It was one of those insane ideas when Man tried to play at being God.

  
And anyway, back at the end of the 21st century, who would have bothered with androids anyway when suddenly Vulcan decided to make first contact and aliens were popping up all over the place?

 

 

**2259 – SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA**

  
Pike is dead and Jim is in shock, though he won't even stop long enough to give McCoy a chance to look him over.

  
Losing a father figure, a partner, a companion in such a manner is horrible. In a rare bout of empathy, Spock had pulled McCoy aside and described Pike's passing in order to give the Doctor an understanding of Jim's mental state.

  
And now the boy was out for revenge, sicced on Khan like one of Admiral Marcus's bloodhounds and McCoy doesn't like it one bit.

  
Something feels wrong and he just can't put his finger on it. He wants to figure it out, but they've got a fugitive to catch, so for now he'll have to put the nagging worry on the backburner.

 

 

Jim is generally not a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of Captain, but being friends with him is definitely of the 'jump without looking' variety. Literally.

  
McCoy complains and leaps anyway. Lands and keeps complaining. And yet, he thinks, he enjoys the rush. The thrill.

  
He shouldn't. He's a Doctor, not an adrenaline junkie. He's able to keep a cool head and a steady hand in any situation. He's always had that, as far as he can remember. It's what makes him a good surgeon.

  
Now Jim listened to the god damn Vulcan and to the god damn terrorist they got locked up, and their world view is turned upside down.

  
McCoy stares down at the pale, blank face in the cryotube because dear God. Dear God, this is something that someone in Starfleet's highest ranks sanctioned, something an admiral ordered. And there were subordinates who didn't think for themselves, who blindly followed those orders and froze up people.

  
They've got seventy-two torpedoes, seventy-two cryotubes, seventy-two lives put away into the freezer like a bag of peas. It's sick, it's cruel.

  
Not for the first time, McCoy regrets ever leaving the South in the first place.

 

 

Jim is still in a coma and they are already leading a trial against Khan.

  
Marcus is dead and they need a scapegoat other than his lackeys. And Khan the terrorist sounds better than Khan who was wronged by Starfleet over the course of several hundred years.  
McCoy is called forward to give his testimony. He describes how he and Carol found Khan's crew in the torpedoes, how Jim barely escaped with his life.

  
They change the details on how exactly the warp core was repaired, how Jim died and how he was brought back. They make it sound like Spock went after Khan merely to catch him, not because he was in some near madness after witnessing Jim's death. And they left Khan alive so he could be put on trial, not so they could use his blood. None of them want Jim to become a human guinea pig.

  
Carol has to testify against her father. Tears keep streaming down her face, but her voice never breaks. Scotty still looks ashen and sunken in on himself, and he has to take a couple of deep breaths before he can speak at all. Uhura has her head held high, her every word so precise that no one will doubt her, but vague in a sense that does not let her utter a single lie, even as she obscures the truth.

  
Spock, though, holds a speech as fiery as a Vulcan may ever get. He doesn't let shine through how he nearly beat Khan to death in his rage, doesn't mention any of the directives all of them disregarded throughout this whole mission. The man who would not leave out a single condemning detail in a report mere days ago is now finding loopholes where Jim would barely even suspect to look.

  
They are a fine crew, all of them, and their captain would be damn proud of them.

  
It doesn't end in Khan's favor, of course. Once the trial is over, it's decided that he will be put back into a cryotube. Like an unfashionable coat on a hanger in the back of a dark closet. His crew, which he tried so desperately to save, will not even be disturbed in their sleep.

  
It's made out to be a merciful sentence. On other planets there are much harsher punishments.

  
Khan sits stone-faced. He hasn't spoken a single word.

  
When they lead him out, reinforced handcuffs and all, his gaze meets McCoy's. The doctor barely makes it to the men's room before he throws up.

 

 

It takes two weeks until McCoy decides to wake Jim from his - by now artificial - coma.

  
Khan's blood worked better than what he could have hoped for, judging by the examinations, but he's still worried that maybe there may be emotional transference, some personality disorder manifesting.

  
Jim had been brain.dead for almost two hours before he'd been hit up with the transfusion and his bodily functions, brain activity included, picked up again.

  
Spock, previously a tense, silent pillar next to Jim's biobed, had let out an audible sigh and marginally relaxed, seconds before the machines registered any signs of life. McCoy had thought of what M'Benga had said about severed mind links and emotional instability, and suddenly everything made much more sense.

  
Now Spock is there again, composed yet almost smiling when he steps forward to greet Jim.

  
And Jim, the dirty bugger, seems to know instinctively what must have transgressed, his voice weak from disuse and his smile even softer.

  
It's a disgusting display of affection and McCoy turns his back so he doesn't have to watch anymore, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

 

 

It takes nearly a year before the Enterprise is ready to roll again, and it will take much longer than that to erase the battle wounds left all over the face of the city and in the hearts of the people involved.

  
Memorials are set up, just like there were after the Narada incident, but no one ever really remembers the names of the dead, instead focusing on the few interesting ones still left alive.

  
Jim is paraded around like a mascot, all-American poster boy that he is, blonde and blue-eyed, a sun even among Starfleet's best and brightest.

  
Teenage girls have posters of him in their bedrooms and little boys have action figures. Jim's got a mother who never calls and, after his release from the hospital, moves directly into a hotel room because getting an apartment would feel too much like trying to make a home on Earth.

  
McCoy lives just next-door and it's almost like being roommates back at the Academy, only with room service and without returning in the evening to find a sock on the door handle. Though, admittedly, Jim doesn't seem to have been meeting many women lately.

  
Instead McCoy has been trying to get back on the dating horse. He's been single for half an eternity and while he doesn't mind the occasional one-night-stand, he feels in need of someone who offers both emotional and physical closeness.

  
Of course he knows that finding a girlfriend before going off to space again is difficult and stupid, but Sulu promised to introduce him to some nice ladies, so he might as well give it a try.

  
Sometimes his entire body feels all wrong and it's more than his synthetic leg. Maybe he's getting old.

  
 _Or maybe you need to get laid,_ he tells himself, _You're all backed-up. If someone where to scan your balls now-_

  
The thought comes to an abrupt halt in his head, dangling there as if on a precipice.

  
“Bullshit,“ he says aloud, even though no one is there to hear, “Why would anyone scan my balls?“

  
Still, when no one answers he is strangely disappointed.

  
  


 


	2. Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “John,“ the AI whispers, the name a mere whisper on his lips, “You're alive? How?“
> 
> McCoy cocks an eyebrow, “Sorry, kiddo. Wrong number. Name's Leonard.“

_“The feeling sometimes, wishing you were someone else_  
Feeling as though you never belong   
This feeling is not sadness, this feeling is not joy   
I truly understand. Please, don't cry now“

**2260 – SOMEWHERE OUT IN SPACE**

  
A five-year mission is daunting, considering no one's ever attempted it before.

  
The only thing apart from everyday routine to keep you occupied is either stupid gossip or life-or-death scenarios. There is no in-between and McCoy is waiting for Space Madness to set in any day now.

  
They've been out for five months which really isn't all that much. They've had run-ins with smugglers and slavers, incidents with despots and diseases. They've discovered the occasional new species and one memorable parallel universe. It's weird, but still business like usual, and apart from various injuries they've only lost a handful of lives, which is definitely something to be thankful for after the huge fuck-up with Marcus and Khan.

  
One day, as McCoy is up on the Bridge, killing time, Uhura picks up the hailing signal of a small cruiser near Occa III, a civilized planet that has not yet joined the Federation.

  
“The cruiser is unregistered,“ Lieutenant Darwin informs the Captain after checking her readings, “Which does not necessarily mean it's involved in illegal business, but still suspicious.“

  
“Who are they and what do they want?“ Jim asks Uhura and waits as she sends the message over.

  
“They are of Terran origin,“ she relays the answer, “And they request permission to come aboard, sir.“

  
Jim frowns slightly, “Why?“

  
“They have been denied permission to land on Occa III, but are in need to refuel. They ask to do so on the Enterprise.“

  
Jim gnaws in the inside of his cheek and McCoy refrains from slapping him over the head for it.  
“How many passengers?“ he wants to know.

  
“Only the pilot,“ she says, “They claim to be merely a traveler, not involved in any trade or political matters.“

  
“Alright,“ Jim gives a tight nod, “Send them permission to dock on hangar 4. I will go greet them personally.“

  
He stands and and turns toward the doorway.

  
“Bones,“ he beckons, but Spock rises as well and certainly not to take the Captain's chair.

  
The two of them exchange a meaningful look and then Jim sighs and says, “Sulu, you have the com.“

  
Idiots, all of them.

  
  


 

From the outside, the cruiser looks inconspicuous enough.

  
It's small, just enough to comfortably accommodate up to four people. It's not exactly new, but in an okay shape, looking like the current owner is taking better care of it than the previous one.

  
McCoy knows little about ships of any kind, but he's certain that this model is not Terran-made, overall a bit too bulky and plain.

  
“Lissen design,“ Jim supplies as if he had read his thoughts, “Occa III has been quarreling with Lisse Q for a while now. Probably why they didn't let them land.“

  
McCoy rolls his eyes. Stupid, immature disputes.

  
The cruiser's single gateway opens and everyone tenses a little. They've got security guards standing to attention, but Spock steps a little closer to Jim anyway, overprotective bastard that he is. McCoy just folds his arms in front of his chest and waits until the gateway is lowered all the way.

  
A few moments later, a humanoid steps out. All human, actually, as far as the Doctor can tell, and most likely male. Milk-chocolate skin, clean-shaven, wearing a dark jeans and leather jacket-combo that is never quite out of fashion. His boots are heavy, but his steps light as he climbs out of the cruiser. He turns toward Jim and Spock with an open expression, even offering the guards a fleeting smile as if to show that he does not pose a threat.

  
McCoy decides to stand back a bit. If anyone does get injured during this confrontation it better not be him, because none of the idiots present would be able to save him, unlike the other way round.

  
“Welcome aboard the Enterprise,“ Jim greets with the confidence of a Captain, his voice demanding respect without posing as unapproachable, “I am Captain James T. Kirk and this is my First Officer Mister Spock.“

  
“Captain Kirk,“ the stranger says, reaching out to shake Jim's hand. As he does so, it is in such an earnest manner that McCoy can't help but be reminded of the original meaning behind the gesture. Of offering one's open palm to show that there are no weapons concealed, of sealing a deal and expressing equality.

  
“It is an honor to meet the both of you,“ the man says before turning to Spock, though now lifting his hand in that moronic Vulcan salute that the Doctor never has gotten the hang of.

  
“Greetings,“ Spock replies, still carefully reserved, “May we inquire about your identity?“

  
“Ah, of course,“ the man nods, “My name is Dorian.“

  
“Just... Dorian?“ Jim prods gently. Sometimes people just don't have family names or titles. Sometimes they are not pronounceable for the human tongue. Sometimes they leave them out to avoid some sort of political incident. They've already been in enough trouble, accidentally housing runaway princesses or state enemies.

  
“You are not human,“ Spock notes mildly and though McCoy can't even see his face from where he is standing he knows that the Vulcan is lifting his eyebrow.

  
“Well,“ the guy named Dorian shuffles around a bit as if vaguely embarrassed to have been caught out like this, “Not all human.“

  
“I am unfamiliar with your design,“ Spock continues, “What kind of android are you?“

  
Android? McCoy's eyes widen. Either this one is a really old model or an unregistered one. The personality chips of the old ones were known for making them go nuts more often than not, and unlicensed ones were even worse because they had usually been put together by some moron with too much free time on his hands and a garage in which he liked to tinker around with scrap metal. Great.

  
“DRN,“ Dorian replies and gives a small, boyish grin, “Late 2030s.“

  
“Fascinating,“ Spock proclaims, just as Jim breathes, “Dude, awesome.“

  
“However, you have been enhanced,“ the Vulcan observes, “Are those modifications within legal parameters?“

  
For a moment, Dorian looks somewhat startled that Spock would notice something like that with one glance; then he grins proudly.

  
“Nothing stolen, all specifically grown and adjusted to my needs,“ he says and runs his fingertips over his jawline, “I even have my own DNA.“

  
“You're trying to become human,“ Jim realizes, astonishment in his voice, “Why?“

  
The android shrugs and gives an enigmatic smile, “I want to be a real boy.“

  
“Okay, okay, let's break this up,“ McCoy interferes and takes a step forward, waving his hand around, “Constructed DNA modulated to fit your already existent body? How's that supposed to work? We don't have that kind of technological or, hell, medical knowledge yet. And even if we did, it would probably be ten kinds of illegal to attempt something like that.“

  
Dorian looks in his direction, seemingly only really noticing him now, and when he does he stares as him as if he had just seen a ghost. There is no better comparison to it, and it makes the Doctor still in surprise.

  
“John,“ the AI whispers, the name a mere whisper on his lips, “You're alive? How?“

  
McCoy cocks an eyebrow, “Sorry, kiddo. Wrong number. Name's Leonard.“

  
“No,“ Dorian shakes his head in obvious disbelief and takes an unsteady step closer. The security guards stand to attention.

  
Things like that have happened, McCoy knows. AIs functioning properly, but when exposed to new input they suddenly go apeshit. Glitch in their coding that could lead to death and destruction. One of the reasons why independent synthetics were no longer produced.

  
So McCoy does no move, waits as the android rakes his blue eyes over his face, like a dying man seeing a mirage in the middle of the desert.

  
And then, Dorian hugs him.

  
Hard and all-engulfing, but not with any force or pain involved, not so that McCoy couldn't push him away if he wanted to. Instead he stands motionless and stiff, caught off guard by the unexpected show of affection. Then Dorian presses his face against the Doctor's neck and just breathes.

  
“You use a different brand of deodorant,“ he notes and, whoa, that's weird, “But your aftershave is similar. You still kind of smell the same.“

  
“Woah there, kid,“ McCoy gives a half-push, half-clap to his shoulder, “I'm really sorry to say this but you've got the wrong man. I'm not this John or whatever.“

  
“Yes, you are,“ Dorian carefully pulls back a little bit, just enough so he can look McCoy in the eyes, “It seems impossible and it should be. I don't even know how you're still alive. Or why you don't remember.“

  
“I remember just fine, kid,“ the Doctor says because right now, calling him Dorian out loud would just make everything more real somehow, “I just don't remember you.“

  
“No,“ Dorian shakes his head once more, clearly deep in denial, “You would always remember. You said so yourself.“

  
McCoy huffs, “And what, exactly, would I remember?“

  
Dorian only gives him a curious look as if weighing his chances.

  
Then he leans forward and kisses him.

  
  


 

“What the fuck, Bones?!“ Jim freaks out at him, his voice barely above a whisper as they briskly walk down the hallway to Med Bay, “You just got frenched by an two-hundred-year old android.“

  
“Not frenched,“ the Doctor feels the need to correct, “Definitely not frenched.“

  
“Well, it was not the kind of kiss you use to greet a friend,“ Jim replies and then seems to reconsider, “At least not in any human culture I know of.“

  
“Maybe his circuits are fried,“ he hypothesizes, “He thinks I'm a completely different person and then acts like I'm the crazy one. Then he kisses me like the lead in some Orion porn vid-“

  
“So you do admit there was tongue involved,“ Jim tries to interrupt, but McCoy ignores him, “And now he wants to sell us some weird conspiracy theory about how I was abducted from the past or something.“

  
“At least he doesn't seem threatening,“ Jim muses, his eyes on the android who's walking several meters before them, flanked by the security guards.

  
“Say that again when he's hugging the living shit out of you and smelling your skin in order to identify which deodorant you use,“ McCoy hisses, “Because I didn't exactly feel unthreatened.“

  
“You also didn't look like you minded overly much,“ Jim points out, faux-innocently.

  
“Screw you, Jimbo, you and this entire space adventure. I should've just stayed in Georgia,“ he says, though he has never truly missed his former home. Georgia feels like a faded postcard. Vague memories of something you only got a glimpse of through someone else's eyes.

  
The Enterprise is much more real, with its clean lines and smooth walls. And Med Bay is his domain, his territory where, for once, he gets to make the decisions and not even Jim or Spock can overrule Doctor's order.

  
And that's why they are taking the AI now, to Med Bay instead of to the brig, because the guy has done nothing hostile and Spock wants to get a complete scan of Dorian's body. And because he is apparently part human, part machine, Spock is there as Science Officer and McCoy as Chief Medical Officer. When needed they've always worked well together and they are going to figure this out.

 

  
  


“So tell us about yourself,“ Jim says, leaning against the biobed opposite of Dorian, as if they were just making smalltalk. Dorian smiles as if he can see right through the pretense.

  
“I am a DRN, one of those first released in 2040. We were intended as partners and back-up for law enforcement, but at some point the program was canceled and we were replaced by the MX model.“

  
“For which reason were you replaced?“ Spock asks and Dorian lowers his head slightly.

  
“The MX were considered more... efficient while we were prone to... unpredictable behavior.“

  
“You started to think for yourself,“ Jim concludes and sounds honestly impressed.  
“Yes,“ Dorian nods, “But at some point, it was decided that I should rejoin the force.

  
Spock frowns and tilts his head slightly, “Only you specifically?“

  
“Captain Maldonado thought that I would prove a good partner for one of the agents who had recently picked up his duties again. He had previously lost his human partner and his right leg in an ambush, and did not do well with the MX,“ this is were Dorian looks straight at McCoy, “His name was John Reginald Kennex. _Your_ name was John Reginald Kennex.“

  
McCoy only gives him an unimpressed look.

  
“Reginald?“ he echoes, “Really?“

  
Dorian gives a tiny shrugs, “Your father was a big fan of Elton John.“

  
“Who's Elton John?“ Jim asks.

  
McCoy doesn't answer, just keeps giving Dorian the look. Because he knows who Elton John was and his father sure as hell wasn't a fan of him. His father liked- his father... Actually, he had no idea what kind of music his father had listened to. He remembers... not being able to cure his father from his illness. He remembers his father on his deathbed. But even that is kind of... washed out. God. He hasn't thought of his old man in ages and now this idiotic android shows up and brings all that back to the surface, the pain like a dull blade in his stomach.

  
“You claim to have known Doctor McCoy over two centuries ago,“ Spock muses and then turns to McCoy, “How is that possible?“

  
“Dammit, Spock, I'm a doctor, not a robotics engineer,“ McCoy growls, “If anything that's your job.“

  
“And I'm a DRN, not a robot,“ Dorian pipes up, looking somewhat offended, “That would be like comparing a homo sapiens sapiens to a Neanderthal. Similar roots, but one branch stagnating while the other keeps evolving. I am a highly empathetic AI, designed to understand and develop human emotions.“

  
“You've been emotional enough for one day, my friend,“ McCoy reminds him, pressing his lips together as if that would erase the previous kiss.

  
Surprisingly, though, Dorian smiles. “Though it may have been spoken with sarcasm, you are already calling me your friend. Upon our first meeting this achievement took you much longer, and before that you reacted strongly against my calling you the same.“

  
“Because we are not actual friends!“ McCoy barely refrains from shouting, “I've never seen you before in my life!“

  
“Not in this life, maybe,“ Dorian corrects with a pointed look.

  
“So what, you've got some rebirth theory now?“ the Doctor laughs, “I happen to be a doppelganger of someone who lived centuries ago and now you think I've got the soul of your- your buddy Reggi inside of me?“

  
He stumbles over his words a little bit, because he's still trying to find out what Dorian and this Kennex guy were to each other. Partners? Sure, AIs in law enforcement were popular for a while. Friends? Possible, if one ignored the fact that even if these specific androids were made to experience feelings, those feelings were still synthetic as well. And lovers? The kiss would indicate something like that, but... who in their right mind would fall for an android? Sexbots were common back then, but having an actual love relationship with a machine? That was ridiculous.

  
“I think... I think you may have been decommissioned at some point,“ Dorian proposes carefully and it looks like the mere thought physically hurts him, “Just like me.“

  
“Decommissioned?“ Jim prompts.

  
“Shut down,“ Dorian answers, but keeps looking at McCoy, “Put to sleep while you were not needed. Or because someone wanted you out of the way.“

  
“Oh yeah?“ McCoy huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, “And when do you think that was?“

  
“You do not look much different from when I last saw you. You have barely aged. I suspect it must have been around 2061. Probably... probably shortly after I was switched off. I don't know how-“

  
“Cryotubes,“ Spock says, “It was around the time after that technology had been introduced, though it was still highly experimental. And even then, the cryotubes could merely be used for short periods of time, without harming the living organism. The only other known case in which a human being was awoken after three-hundred years without any physical damage was-“

  
“Khan,“ Jim finishes the sentence, “But he was... he was genetically enhanced. There's no way in hell a normal human being would survive that.“

  
“Let's slow down for a bit,“ McCoy demands angrily because if they don't, he might get sick, “You're talking like you believe every word that comes out of that man-shaped jukebox. I have a life, you know, and I sure as hell spent all of it in this century, alright?!“

  
But Jim and Spock are looking at him as if they are seeing him for the first time.

  
“We have to be aware of all possibilities, Doctor,“ the green-blooded hobgoblin hedges, “You only joined Starfleet in 2255, on the same day that you first met the Captain, if I recall correctly. How much of your previous life is accounted for?“

  
“All of it, goddammit!“ he yells, “I grew up in Georgia! I went to medschool and got married much too early. I've got an ex-wife named Jocelyn and a daughter named Joanna. She'll turn nine next month and she likes giraffes!“

  
“No,“ Dorian says, “ _You_ like giraffes. You kept a small toy on your desk that you gave to a little boy named Victor when you promised him to save his mother who had been kidnapped by an underground organization that used human skin to enhance their sex bots.“

  
“You stop talking!“ McCoy tells him because what that stupid automaton is saying somehow sounds more tangible than what anything he himself is trying to come up with, “I lived with my parents in East Point and we had a cat named Curly. I've known I wanted to be a Doctor since I could barely write.“

  
But Dorian looks at him with those wide, earnest eyes and gently shakes his head, “The accent you speak with it not real. You're a city boy through and through, but your father once took you ice-fishing and you nearly drowned. Cats usually don't like you. You wanted to be an athlete, but bummed your knee in college. So later you joined the force, which eventually lead to you losing the entire limb. You hate your synthetic leg because it reminds of your partner's death. His name was Martin and his wife always invited you for Thanksgiving, even after his passing, because she knew you had no one else.“

  
“Stop it!“ McCoy repeats with his hands raised, because he's sworn to never hurt a living being, but he's so angry and this guy is only a robot anyway, and why does it feel like the floor is falling out from under his feet?

  
“Bones,“ Jim says and pulls him back gently, an anchor and a source of warmth, “Calm down. I'm... we're not saying that this is all the truth, but... there... there things in your life that never seemed to add up.“

  
“Oh yeah?“ McCoy hisses because this is the first kind he's heard this kind of sentiment from anyone but himself, “For example?“

  
“You never... you never speak about your past,“ Jim points out gently, “You complain about your divorce, sure, but other than that...? You have one holo of Joanna. One. But when was the last time you actually saw her?“

  
“I have no custody rights!“ he bellows, “And Jocelyn moved away with her. I never managed to get a hold of them. Also, I'm in space most of the time, in case you haven't noticed. And you never speak to your family either.“

  
“I'm in contact with my brother,“ Jim tells him, “I know where my mother is stationed. I have an empty house in Riverside. I drove my dad's car into a quarry. I was on Tarsus. I got into bar brawls every week from the day I turned sixteen to the night Pike picked me up from the floor. I have people who remember me. But you... you're a blank.“

  
  


“What's that supposed to mean?“ McCoy feels insulted, “I've got medical records and legal documents. Why do you even believe any of this bullshit?!“

  
Jim looks contrite, “I once hacked your files?“

  
McCoy stares, “You hacked my files?“

  
“Only a little bit. Back in first year.“

  
“Why the hell would you do that?“

  
“Because something was fishy about you,“ Jim replies, “I thought you were under some sort of witness protection.“

  
“So you hacked my files?“ McCoy snorts, “So what, did it say 'former mobster' or something?“

  
“No,“ Jim admits, “But it was still strange. It was extremely well done, but the coding was wrong. Like all of it had been inserted over only a couple of days. From your birth certificate to your doctor diploma. I never said anything because... you were my only friend. You were a weirdo, but you were okay. I thought, if Starfleet's alright with it, then I should be, too.“

  
“Of course, we've recently learned that not all in Starfleet is quite as proper as we'd like to believe,“ Spock suddenly points out and McCoy's stomach plummets again.

  
“So what, you think I'm like Khan?“ he tries to laugh, “Someone made a Popsicle out of me and woke me up again because what? Because there was a shortage of doctors?“

  
“We are still moving on the basis of mere speculation,“ Spock muses, “But I believe you would have noticed if you had been genetically modified like Khan was. Perhaps... they did not wake you for any specific reason.“

  
“You are an experiment of whatever nature,“ Dorian says, “Maybe you were one of many. Maybe you are the only one who survived being woken after such a long time. Maybe there are others like you out there. Someone has heavily altered your memory. You have no recollection of your previous life, but you are still the same person you were back then. They have planted medical knowledge in your brain, enough to make you a doctor, to allow you a profession that is vastly different from the life you led in the force. Maybe that is the experiment. Inserting memory chips in the human brain. Downloading information. They just deleted all previous data from the hard-drive.“

  
“Okay, enough with the the crappy metaphors,“ McCoy tells him, “I'm a doctor, not a time-traveling Guinea pig. A real actual doctor. I have worked hard to get were I am now.“

  
Dorian tilts his head at this, before turning a questioning eye at Jim.

  
“This pattern of speech,“ he asks, “Does he use it often?“

  
“What, the 'I'm a doctor, not a whatever' crap?“ Jim clarifies and nods, “Yeah, pretty much all of the time.“

  
“Such patterns and... repetitious habits,“ the android says, “They are no certain proof, but still an indication toward programmed behavior.“

  
“Nothing about me is programmed!“ McCoy insists, “You're the one who was made in a lab.“  
“True,“ Dorian admits, “But I am also part human.“

  
“The only human thing about you is your love for being melodramatic,“ McCoy declares, “You have no actual proof that any of what you have told us is even remotely true.“

  
“I can show you,“ Dorian says and fixes him with that look again, “I can give you access to my own memories.”  
“That sounds reasonable,“ Spock decides, “How will this happen?“

  
“I will need a monitor and a B15 cable,“ he gives an apologetic smile, “I used to be able to project visuals, but my eyeballs are real now.“

  
“You're like a reverse cyborg,“ Jim realizes, “A machine that is becoming more and more human.“  
“I've always been almost human,“ Dorian says quietly, “Some people just don't like to acknowledge that.“

  
  


 

The monitor and the cable are easily procured. They remain in Med Bay because McCoy wants to keep this private and he's already send all the nurses away. The guards remain outside of the door, just in case.

  
Dorian pinches the micro chip at one end of the cable between his fingertips as Spock connects the other with the monitor. Immediately, a picture pops up.

  
The recording is as clear as if it had been filmed with a camera, which it probably had been, because even if Dorian's eyes were real now, they used to be cameras. But there is no concise editing. It's as if someone had fused together several scenes, sometimes just flickering moments, sometimes several pictures layered over each other.

  
There is... him, McCoy realizes. Him yet not truly him, slightly younger and in surroundings that he's never been in before. Him chatting with a pretty brunette leaning against a desk. Him loading an old-fashioned gun. Him with blood on his face, no, ketchup, no, blood again. Him eating curry in a black jacket layered over him eating ramen in a blue shirt. Him asleep on a couch. Him hobbling through a fancy apartment, his stump visible below his boxer-shorts. Him slowly waking up in the morning, face pressed into the pillow.

  
“You been watching me sleep, you freak?“ the lookalike on the screen asks, words still slow and tired.

  
“Your snoring has kept me awake,“ Dorian's voice answers and suddenly McCoy realizes that they are truly watching the world through the android's eyes. The android that must've been lying in bed directly next to the other man to get that sort of footage.

  
“My apologies,“ the Dorian on the Enterprise says, “That was a private moment. I shall try to give you a full account of what happened back then.“

  
The picture shifts again. And McCoy cannot look away.

 

  
  


 


	3. DRN-0167

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This was recorded fifteen days ago and is one of the more recent and most incriminating occasions upon which Detective Kennex engaged in sexual congress with his DRN unit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I realize that this is not how a real trial would go, but I didn't feel like doing any research, so there.  
> You might also ask why no one just accessed Dorian's memory files or anything like that, and the answer is: because. No, seriously, that would have been kinda lame and I wanted a dramatic exposure.  
> Also, Captain Maldonado rocks and I enjoy writing her A LOT.

_“Please don't go, I want you to stay_  
I'm begging you please, please don't leave here  
I don't want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel  
The world is just illusion trying to change you“

 

**2051 WEST COAST, USA**

They are heads-over in their investigation, when the first allegations are made.

At first, neither Dorian nor John bother to read to the notifications they are sent, but then the Captain calls, too.

“John,“ she says seriously, her tone more grave than usual, “We have a problem.“

“Yeah, I noticed,“ John growls, “Whatever we're gonna dig up-“

“It's not about a case, John,“ she interrupts him and then her voice gentles a little, “It's about you and Dorian.“

 

“I literally just got the memo,“ she greets them; her eyes look strangely big in her pale face, her mouth pursed to a harsh line, “Usually, they'd have to go through me first, ask for my input  
on the matter, but this time...“

She trails off. John looks confused.

“What's going on?“ he asks, a frown greasing his brow, “What's this all about? We're kinda busy at the moment.“

But Dorian has already accessed the data, the blinking notification in his coding that informs him of recently received messages that supposedly have no great urgency.

“John,“ he says quietly, “They found out.“

“Found out what?“ the detective scoffs and then pulls out his phone to check his own message. With each word he reads, his expression grows darker.

“Desecration of government property?“ he says out loud, “Misappropriation of a law executive unit? DRN-0167 – wait a second, that's you.“

He turns back to stare at Dorian and then at the Captain.

“What the hell are they talking about? Is this about us rooming together? Because he's got your written permission for that. And it was never any trouble with Rudy.“

“It's not about him simply staying at your place, John,“ Sandra says. She's got her arms folded over her chest and, for once, she looks defeated, “They are implying that Dorian is more than just your roommate.“

John only barks out a laugh, “Of course, he's more than my roommate. He's my partner. And my friend.“

“John, don't deflect now, not with me,“ she tells him, her eyes flickering shut and that little tic in her left lid she gets when she only wants to go home, “They suspect a sexual relationship.“

She glances over at Dorian, only for a split second, “Or a romantic one. Same difference in this case.“

“What?“ John is still laughing, though it is starting to sound slightly hysterical, “That's ridiculous. Why would I want to bone an android?“

The words as crass, but Dorian tries to ignore them. He knows John is just trying to defend them.

 

“It doesn't matter why you would want to do that,“ the Captain points out with more emphasis, “The question is whether you did.“

And just like that, the fight goes out of John. His shoulders slump and he throws a helpless look over at his partner. Dorian takes a deep breath, even though he doesn't need to.

“We kept it secret,“ he begins, “From everyone.“

“Apparently not,“ she sighs, “And honestly, you could have been a little more subtle.“

She doesn't seem angry or disgusted or even disappointed. Just very, very tired.

“You've killed people for each other without even blinking,“ she shakes her head, “And you always exploded when Richard goaded you.“

“Yeah, well, I goaded back, so why isn't he being accused of using his MX as a sex bot?“ John growls, “And anyway, of course we'd kill for each other. We're working in law enforcement.“

“No,“ Sandra says, “Dorian is supposed to kill for you. You may protect him, if at all possible. You may not run back into a building that is about to collapse, just to pull him out. That's what makes people suspicious.“

“You wanted me to treat him like a human!“ John bursts out, but Maldonado is quick to rise.

“But I didn't want you to fall in love with him!“ she yells and both John and Dorian flinch back. The Captain immediately seems to realize her mistake.

“I'm sorry,“ she apologizes, lifting her hands to her face and rubbing her temples, her eyes, “This is just one huge clusterfuck and...“

She sighs again and then turns back to them.

“I know you are human, Dorian,“ she tells him earnestly, her gaze affectionate, “I know you feel like one. And God knows, if anyone deserves to be happy together, it's you two. You've earned it. But this? This is dangerous.“

“But they can't do anything,“ John claims; he sounds like a child after getting berated by a parent, “They have no proof.“

“Don't they?“ she asks, “They wouldn't throw those allegations at you without some serious evidence.“

“We've been careful,“ Dorian tries to explain, “We've never... we've never even held hands outside of our apartment.“

 

The lines on Sandra's face soften when he mentions this, them holding hands, sharing a home. The idea must be strange for her. Not so much that one of her detectives would be dating his android, but that it's John of all people who falls for a partner he didn't want in the first place.

“They must've spied on us,“ John realizes with a sudden clarity, “They couldn't... they couldn't have known otherwise.“

“But why would they do that if they didn't already have suspicions?“ Dorian notes and ignores the uneasy feeling that settles in him at the thought that someone might have witnessed their private moments.

“If they did, it would have been borderline illegal,“ the Captain adds, “Using that kind of evidence in an evaluation trial is always risky and rarely worth it. Why would they go through all that trouble? Because honestly, while I get that fraternization with android partners is not allowed, there are bigger things to worry about.“

She gives John a hard look, “What have you gotten yourself into?“

“What? Why is it always my fault?“ he tries to defend himself.

“Because I know you. And I knew your father,“ she reminds him, “And a Kennex apparently always sticks his nose where it's not supposed to go.“  
She pauses, “Well, or other body parts anyway.“

“Really, Captain?“ John looks betrayed, “Dirty jokes? Now?“

“I'm serious,“ she says, “That case you opened again. The one you're working on at the moment. You said it smelled fishy.“

Dorian and John exchange a heavy look. The case really was fishy. Fishy enough that a homicide dated five years ago was somehow linked to Insyndicate. No surprise there, really, if it weren't for the fact that suddenly, Insyndicate seemed to be running on government funding.

“It's complicated,“ John says, but Sandra only gives him an exasperated look, “I just found out that you and Dorian are playing house. I think I can take complicated.“

Against his will, a smile tugs at Dorian's lips and he can see the same happening to John. He wishes they could have told the Captain on their own conditions, but her reaction could have been much worse. So John gives her a nod.

“Okay,“ he agrees, “Dorian? Let's show her what we've got so far.“

 

 

“Adena Kane,“ Dorian introduces as he projects the profile photo and data of the victim, “She was killed five years ago in a mugging. Before being killed, she'd been forced to make a financial transaction via her coin stick. However, the other account was fake. It wasn't just that the robber never accessed the money later, the account was simply not viable. So the transference was made in theory and showed up on Miss Kane's data, but the money was basically lost in cyberspace.“

The Captain shrugs, “Maybe the account was a dummy and they simply cut the coding and entered it somewhere else. A diversion.“

“That's what the investigators back then believed, but something seemed odd,“ Dorian says, “The case was simply closed because of supposed lack of evidence. But they worked on it for less than a month and then just set it aside. Rather unusual procedure in a homicide.“

“Also, the manner in which is was killed didn't fit the mold,“ John adds, “The money they took from her – if they even really took anything at all – was not a large amount. Not if they were planning on killing her anyway. Because the weapon they used was a quarter gun.“

Maldonado's eyebrows lift as she quickly does the math.

“Those had just been introduced to the military,“ she realizes, “Where would a random thug have gotten it from, especially if he didn't really have any money in the first place?“

“Either they borrowed the money and wanted to pay it back by robbing people,“ John theorizes, “Or they were given the gun for free.“

“Or,“ Dorian adds, “They were no random thug at all.“

The Captain frowns, “What are you saying, that this woman was killed by a military professional?“

“Most likely,“ John replies, “So that's why we started examining her background. Because Adena Kane was a freelance reporter, more or less notorious for her conspiracy theories, especially regarding Insyndicate.“

“In the months leading up to her death, she was investigating where Insyndicate got their funding,“ Dorian explains, “She believed that not everything could be explained with drug money and the black market. Curiously enough, though, when she announced her next big reveal she promised that she had dirt on the government instead.“

 

“Wait,“ Sandra lifts a hand, easily catching up, “You think that this woman believed that the government was paying Insyndicate? All this time?“

“We're not sure,“ John admits, “Maybe it's only a certain political fraction. Maybe they've only just joined in. But... there are too many unexplained details. And then the case was closed so fast. So... fishy.“

“Fishy,“ she agrees and rubs her chin, “You know what that means?“

“What?“

“That you are next on their list.“

“What?!“ John huffs, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.“

“That's not what she meant, John,“ Dorian tells him, “She meant that it is no coincidence that someone would be spying on us now. And that they would threaten us.“

“What kind of threatening is that?“ John snorts, “They killed a woman who no one took serious anyway, but when it comes to us they just want to out us to some officials? Am I supposed to be intimidated by that?“

“The worst you might fear is being expelled from the force,“ Dorian responds, his gaze dropping to the floor, “But as soon as they deem me unfit for duty because of my connection with you... they will have me decommissioned.“

He can see how John stops breathing for a moment, caught off guard by that revelation. It always amazes Dorian how easily John forgets that the DRN is not his own person, with his own rights. That some higher-up can just decide to pull the plug and throw him on the trash. It's a constant fear Dorian has to live with, a constant reminder how careful he has to be in everything he does. When he fell in love with John he thought of this. When he first kissed him he thought of this. And yet, it never would have stopped him. He'd rather die and know what they had had than go through this tentative life without ever trying, daring.

“They can't do that,“ John shakes his head, “And also, it still doesn't make sense. Adena Kane was just some random nutjob would wrote crazy sensational articles. No one would have believed her, but she had to die? I'm a detective and could get actual dirt on them and they basically just slap my wrist? Why?“

“Credibility,“ Maldonado shrugs, “You were already personally involved with Insyndicate. You dying in some freak accident or even on the job... that might raise some questions. Remove your partner in crime,“ - a small nod to Dorian - “set you up with an MX instead to hinder your investigations. One way or the other, they'd deter you. And if it's really some bigwig who decides over this, they won't need a gun, but a mere signature to get rid of you. Clean and easy.“

“Yeah, we made it easy. Damn it,“ John buries his face in his hands and kicks against the Captain's desk, not enough to cause any damage, but still an expression of his helplessness, “If I'd never let this happen-“

Dorian knows what he is talking about, of course, but he cannot find it in him to speak. John has always been reluctant about their relationship, for too many reasons to count. And now he is finally proven right and in the worst way possible to boot.

“Hey now,“ Sandra says gently, like she has switched from boss to friend, “If it hadn't been this, they would have found something else. Dug up all that stuff about your father or the raid. Called you in for a psych eval and announced you unfit for duty. Something. This just seemed easiest, because... well, it's the truth.“

“It's the truth,“ John licks his lips, head sunken in defeat before he throws a searching look at his partner, “So how do we get out of this?“

Dorian honestly doesn't know.

 

 

Their plan to solve the case before anything can happen to them doesn't work out.

All their leads turn out to be decoys, frauds, liars, false evidence or nothing at all. Dorian has never felt more under pressure, not when he was staring down someone's barrel, not when he was trying to defuse a bomb. There is nothing they can do. Before the week is over, they are called in for a trial.

There is no decorum, no warning. John barely has time to call in his lawyer, the same one who took his case after he woke from his coma and everyone wanted to place all the blame on him. Dorian thinks of how quickly Adena Kane's case was set aside and how quickly this trial was announced. There has to be someone pulling the strings, no doubt. But that knowledge doesn't do them any good. It's only bitter and intimidating.

Dorian had wanted to spend the night at the charging facilities with the other androids or even at Rudy's, but John believes that would be even more suspicious, like admitting they'd been doing something wrong before.

“We got nothing to hide,“ John growls, roughly pulling Dorian down onto the bed and hiding his face against the smooth synthetic skin of the android's neck.

But we do, Dorian thinks vaguely, We do.

They do not want to treat it as their last night together, though they both know that it might as well be. So they don't say any goodbyes, any promises, instead pressing listless kisses all along their bodies in the dark. Dorian memorizes every single thing about John, every detail he may or may not have missed before, his scent, the birthmark in the hollow of knee, the way his blue veins write a capital Y against the smooth skin of his inner wrist. And the way the affections are returned, he can tell that John is doing the same. That although there are dozens of other DRNs that look exactly like him, there is only one Dorian and he is being held in John's arms.

Sleep or rest or recharge eludes them. By the time the night flees the dawn, they are merely lying side by side, gazing into each other's eyes.

“It is time,“ Dorian finally says, when any more stalling will make them run late for their own trial. It is not worth risking.

“I know,“ John whispers, his eyes sunken in with dark, exhausted shadows, “I know.“

 

 

It's an actual trial with a judge, an attorney, a jury and a plethora of witnesses.

Dorian is a witness as well. John is the accused. It feels wrong. If anything, there are in this together, the case, the relationship. But someone wants them apart and it has already begun.  
After they have gone through the long, tiring details, the judge, a big bald man with an unending frown on his forehead, looks over at John and his lawyer, “Does your defendant have anything to say on his behalf?“

“No, your Honor,“ Mrs. Chen says simply. John makes a show of crossing his arms.

“In that case, we may call in the first witness,“ the judge decides and gives the attorney a nod.

“We call Rudolph Lom to the stand.“

 

“Doctor Rudy Lom,“ the Judge reads off his notes, “It says here that the DRN in question had been under your care for a while, regarding overnight charging. Why is that?“

“Yes, that it correct,“ Rudy fumbles with the bowtie that he had awkwardly tied around his neck, “Dorian -uh, DRN-0167, that is,- proved to be incompatible with the accommodations at the facility.“

“Incompatible?“ the Judge repeats, “How so? His charging process is similar to that of an MX-43.“

“Incompatible not physically, but emotionally,“ Rudy stresses, “The MX are... rather terse fellows, if I might say so. Such an environment proved to be... not ideal for a DRN model.“  
“Are you saying that you accommodated this synthetic because he was unhappy with the other androids?“

“Yes!“ Rudy snaps his fingers, but then quickly sobers at the judge's unimpressed look, “Well, basically. And as a full-night charge is meant to ensure that a bot is able to function at its optimum, it is only natural that it has to be offered the best circumstances of achieving this state.“

“Then who brought it to your attention that the synthetic needed different accommodations? Was it your own idea?“

“Uh, no. Detective Kennex approached me and asked whether I would care for a roommate. I am currently single... well, I was single back then, too, so I thought it might be nice to have some company. Not that kind of company! Just... two friends hanging out, enjoying the bachelor life.“

He chuckles a little, but his shoulders hunch up. Apparently he has realized how bad he is at this.

“So the DRN stayed with you,“ the Judge concludes, “Which happened on Detective Kennex' explicit wish. Then how come he took the DRN to his own living quarters only six months later?“

“Well, I, er, there had been several nights in a row during which I could not adequately supervise the DRN unit, so John offered to do it for me,“ Rudy explains, “He got the permission from Captain Maldonado. After that week, I recalled how much I enjoyed living on my own, so... I asked John whether he would take over my duties permanently. He agreed. And that's how it happened.“

It takes Dorian a moment to realize that Rudy is lying. Rudy hadn't wanted to get rid of him. John had just decided that Dorian might as well stay with him now. It's a gamble. High quality lie detectors are only brought in when there is an explicit suspicion. With how uncomfortable Rudy is, though, even Dorian is unable to discern the fluctuations in Rudy's heartbeat and breathing patterns, or even interpret his mimic. Him lying appear him expressing himself in his usual mannerisms.

“And this first permission of the transfer from Lom to Kennex, is there any record of it?“ the judge glances over at Maldonado who is sitting off to the side.

“No, your Honor,“ she shakes her head, “It was given verbally, with only Detective Kennex present, as it seemed like a short-term agreement. The permanent transfer is properly recorded.“

“Yes, I have it here,“ the judge peeks back at his tablet, before looking at the attorney, “Do you have any more questions for the witness?“

“Not at this point, your Honor.“

 

 

Detective Paul is up next. It is no surprise. Everyone knows about John and Richard's childish rivalry. They must think Richard would sell them right out. No outright lying, because he cannot ever have seen them together, but implying enough to make people believe him.

“Detective Richard Paul,“ the attorney begins, “There are several instances in which your colleagues recall you making disparaging comments regarding Detective Kennex and his relationship with DRN 0167. Is that true?“

“Yes, sir,“ Paul replies bluntly, “However, I would like to point out that both before and after his return to the force, my own relationship with Kennex had been a strained one. We are constantly at each other's throats, if I may put it like that. It has nothing to do with his bot and whatever he does or doesn't do with it. In fact, he has made similar comments in regards to me and my MX unit.“

Paul gives a little, off-hand smirk, “It may not be politically correct, but sometimes such insults are the least dangerous way to deal with any underlying conflicts.“

“So you do not believe that Detective Kennex is sexually involved with his synthetic?“

“I believe that Kennex is a damn fine detective who has done more for this city than anyone might suspect and he is being thanked with accusations and distrust,“ Paul answers, his tone adamant, before adding, “And the same goes for Dorian.“

There are many proverbs about how only in dire situations you recognize your true friends and suddenly Dorian realizes what it all really means.

When Richard is dismissed from the witness stand, Dorian sends him a grateful look. The other detective only nods in return, no smile in sight. They both know that it's not yet over.

 

 

“Detective Valerie Stahl. Is it true that Detective Kennex pursued a romantic relationship with you?“

For a moment, Valerie seems startled by the overly personal question, but she quickly catches herself, “We are colleagues and friends. If there was ever any interest from his side, he never acted on it.“

“But you would not be surprised if he tried to enter into a relationship with a colleague?“

“There are many couples in our ranks, married ones or casual hook-ups,“ Valerie points out, “Fraternization within the force is not forbidden, as long as it doesn't interfere with the work.“

“Personal involvements between higher and lower ranking officers, however, are strongly discouraged. It is without question that within this alleged scenario, Detective Kennex was taking advantage of an inferior.“

“I thought this trial was about him desecrating government property,“ Valerie says calmly, “First you are treating Dorian as an object and now as a victim. Make up your mind.“

The attorney bristles, “You are not here to question the juridical system, Detective. However, you seem to believe that DRN-0167 is neither victim nor object. Would you care to explain how you arrive at this conclusion?“

“Dorian is, as you pointedly keep reminding us, a DRN,“ she tells him, “They are made to feel and think for themselves. The are also able to disregard orders, both physically as well as mentally. John cannot have forced Dorian to do anything he didn't want to do. Therefore he is not a victim.“

“But his ability to disregard orders also made the synthetic ignore its protocol. So it should not have willingly engaged in any untoward activities either.“

“As I said, the DRNs were made to feel. You cannot expect a being to act against its own nature.“

“A bot, though, is not made naturally. It is engineered. Perhaps there is a glitch in its system.“

“One-hundred-and-forty years ago, people still believed that women had a glitch in their system,“ Valerie insists with steel in her voice, “That they were inferior to men, prone to emotional instabilty and unable to make their own decisions. A century ago, non-white people were still considered inferior in the eyes of the law and they are still fighting for the same privileges that come so easy to us. Then it was non-straight people who weren't allowed the same rights, who were discriminated against for loving whom the loved. We overcame all that. We may look at other human beings and see them as our equal. Every generation had its own fight. Once, black people were not considered human, but property. Now, we have DRNs who are human in all the ways that matter. And you are still using the same old arguments that hypocrites used a hundred years ago.“

It's a fiery speech and Dorian can't help but discreetly glance over at the jury. They seem to span a wide demographic and ethic spectrum, some many might see the appeal in her words. But he also knows that few humans liked to think that their unique humanity could simply be replicated.

Also, most people are used to simpler bots or the MX who do not have a synthetic soul. They have no actual experience with the DRN, apart from the horror stories they heard on the news all those years ago before Dorian had been shut off. They might just see him as another source of danger. John's background will probably be dragged into the light of day as well. As soon as the raid or even his father are brought up, everyone will start judging him.

Valerie's romantic notion that everything can be solved with ideals of equality and love are delusional in this case. No one will be overly shocked if a detective used a DRN as a sexbot, but John will still be expelled from the force. Yet if he starts arguing that he is in a consensual love relationship with an android, people will start freaking out.

Because that's what happened in the course of history of everything Valerie had just described. At first, people always freaked out. Eventually, they came around, fifty years later maybe. But John and Dorian do not have fifty years. They only have now.

 

 

“We now call on DRN-0167 for an evidence statement,“ the attorney demands because Dorian is not a witness after all. He is not a victim. He is property and evidence.

“Good morning,“ he says pleasantly. After his initial work evaluation, he tried to act more lie an MX, but he knows that this was not the way to go here. He has to be human and hope for sympathy. How odd that he, the machine, is hoping for empathy from the beings in whose likeness he had been created.

“DRN-0167,“ the judge began, “I reckon you will not simply disclose the truth on demand.“

It is not a question, so Dorian merely smiles faintly.

“For how long have you been working as Detective Kennex' partner?“ the judge asks, though he obviously already knew the answer to that.

“For thirty months,“ Dorian replies, “Nearly three years.“

“Yes, I can count, thank you,“ the judge huffs, “Do you know the reason you were re-activated?“

“Captain Maldonado believed that John would work better with a DRN than with an MX,“ Dorian explains what little he knew, hoping that his use of John's first name will not get him into any more trouble.

“He had been assigned an MX before, though,“ the attorney jumps in, “One that suffered from a fatal accident after curiously falling out of a moving vehicle.“

“As I was not yet active at that point of time, I cannot possibly make a statement on that matter,“ Dorian says carefully.

“Has the detective ever tried to disable you?“

“No, never.“

“Why do you think that is?“

“After his initial... reluctance to partner with me, we realized that we worked well together. We make a good team.“

“As investigators, you mean.“

“Yes.“

“Yet you spend much more time with him than even any of the previous DRNs did with their partners,“ the attorney notes, “And even before you... became his live-in partner, he often took you along to places where police bots are not necessarily meant to go. Drinking establishments, restaurants, the theater even.“

 

Dorian takes a second to prepare an answer, “Any good work relationship demands that you spend time together outside of the job as well. We were often accompanied by Rudy, Valerie or even Sandra.“

The attorney frowned, “As in, Captain Maldonado? So you claim to be on first name basis with all your superiors.“

“Only those who consider me their friend.“

The jury is getting somewhat restless, whispering among each other, but the judge does not call them to attention yet.

“Is it true that on the 2nd of December last year, you killed an individual who was threatening the detective without waiting for further instructions?“

“The man was holding a knife the John's throat. I would have done the same if it had been anyone else.“

“But you are willing to kill someone in order to protect... your partner,“ the attorney concludes and Dorian did not miss the ambiguous use of the last word.

“I am willing to kill someone in order to protect the law,“ he relied tersely.

“Just answer the question.“

“Yes, I am willing to kill in order to protect John or any other member of the force.“

“Has your dedication to Kennex ever ventured from strictly professional interest in his safety?“

“He is my friend and my confidant. Without him I would not be working as a detective, doing what I love. I would not be alive. I owe him a lot and therefore I am personally invested in his well-being.“

“Would you say that you tend to his every need?“ the attorney wants to know.

Dorian closes his eyes, having to gather himself at the thinly veiled insult, “I am not a sex bot, if that's what you're implying.“

“But you are designed to engage in sexual activities?“

“... Considering that we were made to be as human as possible-“ he begins, but is immediately cut off, “If one of your superiors orders you to perform sexual actions on them or anyone else, would you obey?“

“I have my own conscience. When someone orders me to harm someone, I will refuse. When someone orders me to jump out of a window, I will refuse. When someone orders me to engage in sexual congress, I will refuse.“

“But what if they don't order you?“ the attorney cocks an eyebrow, “What if they ask? Would you be willing to experience... carnal pleasures, so to speak?“

“My inherent curiosity dictates me to learn as much about human life as possible.“

“So, if such an opportunity arose, you would seize it?“

“Possibly, yes.“

“No more questions, your Honor.“

 

 

“Detective John Reginald Kennex,“ the attorney addresses him and John scowls at the use of his full name.

“That's me,“ he says obnoxiously and Dorian resists the urge to roll his eyes. This is not the time to be difficult.

“You were the lone survivor after an unsuccessful raid and were in a coma for seventeen months, is that correct?“

“Yes, that is correct.“

“Your partner Martin Pelham was killed in that raid, was he not?“

John's eyes flicker shut for a moment, no doubt remembering those terrible minutes that took his life apart in one blow, “Yes.“

“You were also left by your girlfriend, Anna Moore,“ the attorney continues and suddenly all of Dorian's warning bells are ringing. John seems to be experiencing the same feeling, because instead of answering he only gives the attorney a short nod and a hard, guarded look.

John never figured out Anna's motives and the exact circumstances of her involvement with Insyndicate, but eventually he told Sandra and Dorian about what little he remembered. There were not quite able to absolve him of his self-blame that she had so easily deceived him, but they convinced him to keep going in the hopes that he would eventually get some answers.

The unofficial story simply remained the one that John had believed at first. That a gorgeous young woman like Anna had not wanted to wait around for her scarred and crippled boyfriend to wake up from a coma – if he even woke at all. That she gave up. That she did not love him enough to at least leave a message. That she never visited him at the hospital. That she up and left their apartment just days after the raid. That John Kennex lost his girl, his best friend, his leg, his integrity and a good chunk of his life within what seemed like the blink of an eye to him. That he was a poor bastard that either deserved to be pitied or should otherwise be mistrusted regarding his own role in the busted raid.

So why is the attorney suddenly fixating on Anna?

 

“In the course of your recovery, your therapist noted that you suffered from PTSD, OCD, depression and mental atrophy,“ the attorney continues pointedly, “And that you had developed severe trust issues. Yet it seems that within only a few days of working together, you had completely accepted DRN-0167 as your partner. Does that not seem strange to you?“

“I don't trust the MX who are programmed to act based on their so-called logic,“ John says through gritted teeth, “Dorian proved himself worthy on the first day. So what are you getting at?“

“I believe that the trauma you endured caused you to look for replacements of the people and the quality of life you had lost. When the DRN was assigned as your android partner, he became a substitute for Detective Pelham.“

“No,“ John hisses, “Marty was my best friend. You don't just replace your best friend. You might make a new one, but-“

“Then what about your girlfriend?“ the attorney interrupts him, “Would you replace her?“

“What?“

“After your return to work, you did try to initiate a relationship with Detective Stahl, but failed. So you were interested in engaging in some sort of intimacy, even if it involved one of your colleagues.“

“I realized early on that she wasn't into me,“ John's face is red, from anger, from embarrassment because Valerie is still present, Dorian cannot tell.

“And after that rejection, did you ever approach anyone else?“

“No, not really. Working odd hours and in constant danger of getting shot kinda puts a dampner on romantic inclinations, you know.“

“Yet you set up a profile on an online dating website,“ the attorney pulls up the site though it must be a copy, because Dorian had deleted it years ago.

“Yeah, okay, that was a joke on my behalf,“ John points out, “I didn't write any of it. I'm not even a Capricorn.“

“But you are 'looking for love in unexpected places'?“ the attorney reads and zooms in on that portion of the profile, “It also doesn't specify whether you are looking for men or women.“

“So what, being bisexual is a crime once more?“ John drawls, tapping his fingers against his thigh, an obvious nervous habit, “Listen, I don't know what you are trying to say here-“

“I'm trying to say that for whatever reason – emotional trauma, sexual deviation, you name it – you looked at the bot that replaced your partner, and decided that it might as well replace your girlfriend!“

“Objection, your Honor!“ Mrs. Chen interferes, “The wording of these accusations is getting more and more juvenile and deliberately obnoxious.“

“Rejected,“ the judge waves her off, “The attorney presents an interesting case.“

“A case which has been based on mere speculation so far,“ Mrs. Chen claims, “We have not seen any evidence pointing to my clients involvement with the named android or anyone else for that matter. Nor have we heard any witness accounts that would point to Detective Kennex's guilt. Though I am aware that the attorney represents the concerns of the chairmen of the local law enforcement and execution department, I have to wonder who or what even tipped them off regarding the belief that the detective was involved in anything morally dubious or even illegal.“

“The Department has serious reason to believe that-“ the attorney begins, but Mrs. Chen shoots him down, “Then I would like to see some proof instead of talking in circles.“

Finally, the attorney huffs and lifts his shoulders, “Very well. I had been hoping to avoid this, but if you insist.“

He closes John's dating profile and pulls up a video feed instead.

 

“This was recorded fifteen days ago and is one of the more recent and most incriminating occasions upon which Detective Kennex engaged in sexual congress with his DRN unit,“ he explains smoothly, “It shows the detective in his home-“

“Objection,“ Mrs. Chen calls out once more, “Filming my client outside of his work and within his home is a severe breach of privacy and itself morally questionable.“

“Permitted,“ the judge agrees and then turns to the attorney, raising an eyebrow, “You have a good answer for that?“

“Of course, your Honor,“ the attorney sniffs, “If you will check your inbox regarding case evidence, I have sent you the warrant which declares Detective Kennex a person of interest. He was to be supervised at irregular intervals as to ascertain whether he is still working with Insyndicate.“

“I was never involved with them in the first place!“ John barks angrily and Mrs. Chen sends him a disapproving glare.

Things are getting heated now. The jury is unsettled, whispering once more. Valerie and Rudy are exchanging worried glances, and the Captain has her jaw clenched. Dorian is standing motionless as is expected of him, though all he wants to do is grab John's hand and get the hell out of there.

“The warrant seems valid,“ the judge decides after he has checked the message, “Which means that the recording can be used as a piece of evidence. Proceed.“

The attorney nods, “As I said, the defendant was being supervised due to his potential collaboration with Insyndicate. However, the drone happened to record a different sort of crime instead.“

It's bullshit. It's total bullshit. After his exoneration at the conclusion of the first trial regarding the raid, it would have been unreasonable to still assume John held any blame, not five years after the sell-out itself. And even if that had been their true motivation, they would have caught on to their relationship months ago. Why would they only expose it now?

The obvious answer is, of course, that this has nothing to do with anyone suspecting John of any actual criminal activities, but that it was a setup. He and Dorian start investigating Insyndicate and the government, and suddenly someone decides to paint them as dishonest and deranged in the eyes of the law.

Adena Kane had to die because she might have tipped the right people off who would have checked her suspicions, no matter how ridiculous they sounded. Now John's credibility has to be destroyed so that no one will support him if he started ranting about how he was a victim of a corrupt system. His sudden death might alert someone to the fact that there was some truth to his insane ravings, so they would just left him live, disgraced and defeated. It is ingenious. It is terrible. Dorian feels nauseated.

 

In front of the whole court, in front of their friends and colleagues and complete strangers, the holovid starts replaying the evening fifteen days ago. The drone must have been filming through the living room window; the sound is muffled but easily understandable.

John is lounging on the couch, filling the hollow of his palm with Skittles before tossing his head back and throwing them all into his mouth. He is chewing heartily when Dorian emerges from the bathroom.

He had taken a shower, just because he could. Because he felt human when the hot water ran down his body and he could imagine it washing off sweat and dead skin and all the other fascinating unpleasant things that came with organic lifeforms. He had dried himself off and then wrapped a big, fluffy towel around his hips before looking at himself in the mirror and realizing that John would probably enjoy this view as well.

Yet now the John on the holo is merely glancing over at him and cocking an eyebrow before turning away and scratching his butt as if his perfectly sculptured partner were not strutting around in his apartment. So Dorian had chosen a more direct approach.

On the recording, he is confidently walking up to the couch, his back to the drone, which he is now grateful for because he knows what is about to happen.

Three years ago, he had had no qualms about showing John – or anyone else – his junk, but his continued exposure to humans has taught him propriety, has taught him shame and self-consciousness. He does not consider it a bad thing. Adam and Eve had eaten of the tree of enlightenment and started to cover up their modesty. They had become truly human, flawed and selfish and somehow spoiled. Dorian, too, is human. Dorian, too, is about to be cast out of paradise.

His holo-self is standing directly in front of holo-John, slowly loosening and then lifting the towel to present his nudity.

The drone, fortunately, only saw bis rear-view, his back bared, but his ass and legs still covered by the spread-out towel.

Dorian risks a glance through the court room. The captain is rubbing her temples. Rudy is bright red and trying not to look at the holo. Val is red, too, but she keeps her eyes focused, her lips pursed.

Holo-John wipes a hand over his face, “Ugh, take that away. My poor eyes.“

In reply, holo-Dorian only gives a disbelieving laugh, “Hey, you're the one who's always running around naked. I basically have a eidetic memory. At least your memory will fade over time. Maybe you'll get hit over the head and forget it all.“

He'd expected John to crack a joke about how he might just wipe Dorian's memory files, that would have the same effect, but he didn't. Instead his eyes grow shuttered, visibly even on the video feed.

“I will never forget this, you hear me?“ he says hoarsely, before reaching out and pulling Dorian closer, “I will never forget us.“

 

Was he thinking of Anna then, of how desperately he had wanted to remember what had happened during the assault, only to find out he had been betrayed and lied to all this time? Was he finally letting go of that self-loathing and allowing himself to trust someone else with his life and his heart? Dorian never dared to ask. Now it was probably too late.

On the vid, they are kissing. A deep kiss, hard and sensual. Dorian has let go of the towel and he is straddling John's lap, his fingers in John's hair, while hands keep running up and down his side, firm and knowing.

The entire scene screams familiarity. Them being so at ease in their shared apartment, the way they know each other's bodies, the implication that this has been going on for a while and that they have no plans to stop.

It's one of Dorian's happiest memories. It's his death sentence.

The attorney stops the holo, but does not minimize it, leaves the picture dangling in the air behind him, a visible reminder of the accusations.

“In the course of that encounter, Detective Kennex allowed the android to sodomize him... twice,“ the man pauses as if to let that information sink in, “I believe that all doubts regarding the severity of this arrangement have been removed. I rest my case, your Honor.“

The judge looks vaguely unhappy, like this is becoming for of a hassle than he had been expecting.

“Mrs. Chen,“ he says, “Does your side have anything to add?“

“You Honor, if I may,“ Sandra suddenly speaks and stands up. She is short, compared to the tall, thin attorney and the judge who sits elevated on his chair, but as always her mere presence demands respect and attention.

The judge nods lightly, “Very well, go on.“

“It was me who assigned Dorian to work with John,“ she explains, “Because I knew they would complete each other. In whatever manner necessary. For the three years they have been working together, they have done exceptional things to protect this city. They have saved lives and caught criminals. Real criminals. People who kill and steal for fun and for a living. Rapists. Psychopaths. I realize that one good deed does not erase a supposedly bad one, but I ask you and the jury to consider this. If John and Dorian were not a team, then Thomas Craig would still be running free. Ayako Brook would not have been returned safely to her parents. Doctor Stein would still be practising and we would be none the wiser. Would someone else have solved those cases as successfully as Detectives Kennex and Dorian did? Maybe. Do I regret that I put them together? No. A Luger Test is not a failsafe way to determine an android's worth. And neither is the current law a failsafe way to differentiate between criminals and decent people who had the misfortune to live in narrow-minded society.“

“Is that all?“ the judge asks and Sandra nods, “Yes, your Honor.“

Dorian closes his eyes.

 

 

It takes less than an hour for the jury to convene, for John to be pronounced guilty, for the judge to declare the sentence.

“In light of the unambiguous evidence as presented by the department of prosecution, the court recognizes John Kennex' transgressions regarding §177, §178 as well as $221 and has been found guilty on all accounts,“ the judge reads loudly, “As the offenses only seem to pertain to DRN-0167, it has been decided that the according DRN unit is to be decommissioned and discarded as per regulations VII)a and b).“

“You cannot do this!“ John yells and slams his palms down on the tabletop, but the judge just ignores him.

“Furthermore, the accused is to be suspended from his work as a police officer until the department itself has decided about the continuation of his career. Apart from that, he will have to cover half the costs of his trial as well at the financial loss the department makes by disassembling one of their androids. The defendant may raise objection against any of these sentences in a separate trial.“

And like the sword of Damocles, the hammer falls.

 

 

Rudy doesn't look at him.

“I'm sorry,“ he mumbles, fidgeting with the electronics, “I'm so, so sorry.“

“It's okay, Rudy,“ Dorian says, his voice calm and a small smile on his lips, so it's one of those lies that you only speak to pacify someone else. “It's gonna be okay. This probably isn't permanent. You can just wake me up a little while from now. John's always saying I need my beauty sleep anyway.“

Finally, Rudy looks up and there is silent acceptance in his eyes.

“You're right,“ he agrees, “We're gonna fix it, just you wait.“

That, too, Dorian realizes, is one of those lies.

They sit in silence for a few moments before either of them notices someone standing in the doorway of the gallery. It is John, of course. John, who doesn't even have permission to see him once more, but who must have sneaked it because he does not give a damn about what other people order him to do.

“Oh,“ Rudy says and accidentally catapults a screw driver across the table. It makes a loud clanking sound as it rattles against a metal bowl and then falls to the floor.

John has his arms crossed tightly across his chest, leaning against the threshold, staring down where Dorian is sitting in Rudy's tiny kingdom. He feels lost, adrift in an endless sea, but he catches John's gaze and holds it quietly.

There is anger in his partner's eyes, anger and helplessness.

John's fury has always led to self-destruction and loud outbursts, kicking at tables, scratching at walls. Now, though, he is silent and contained, something almost painful in the way he seems to hold on to himself, trying to keep that brutal force from bursting out of his body.

Dorian cannot relate to the anger. He feels numb and vaguely sad.

“I'll, uh, I'll give you guys a moment,“ Rudy mumbles awkwardly, making an unintelligible gesture with his hands, “So you can... you know, just the two of you, together, alone. Without me, that it. I'll just... wait in the back room.“

But when he flees, Dorian and John are still just staring at each other, the distance like an insurmountable gap between them. Finally, though, John pushes away from the threshold and makes his ways down the metal stairs, his boots heavy, clenching the banister like the ground might fall out from under his feet at any moment.

Seconds later he is walking up to Dorian, close and closer, until he is almost touching the android's knees where he is sitting on the operational table.

 

For another moment, neither says anything. John's gaze has dropped down and to the left, as if the sight of Dorian suddenly hurt him. Maybe it does.

It is unfair how Insyndicate has taken Anna from him and now they are taking Dorian, too. John does not deserve to be alone. He ought to be loved and cherished endlessly.

“John,“ Dorian begins gently, like he has done so many times whenever he thought that his partner might lose himself in memories and self-loathing. But for once, he does not know how to go on. Surprisingly, though, it is the detective who continues in his stead.

“This is not forever, alright,“ John tells him and it almost sounds more like a threat than a promise.

“I know, John,“ Dorian says.

Up close, John is still seething. His outward response to emotional turmoil is always ire. He's always fighting, always so damned belligerent that Dorian can barely get a word in edgewise. But by now he has learned to look beneath those layers of spite and snark. John is unexpectedly vulnerable and sensitive, though he would rather bite off his tongue than admit it.  
Dorian himself feels strangely... void. For someone who was made to feel, this indifference seems out of place.

Shock, he realizes with vague surprise, like watching himself through a stranger's eyes. He's in shock. What a peculiar feature in an android who is supposed to function even under great duress. Do humans feel this way when they know that death is imminent? Did he feel that way before he was first decommissioned?

“This is not forever,“ John repeats, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

“I'm gonna close this case and prove to everyone that they are wrong. Maldonado is on our side. Valerie and Rudy can vouch for us again. They can't possibly get through with this. They can't.“

“John,“ Dorian speaks his name quietly, like a plea, “John, look at me.“

And John does. He stills his ranting and his wild gestures, and just looks.

“Come here,“ Dorian begs, pulling him closer, until there are mere centimeters between them, and Dorian cups his hands against John face, pressing his forehead to the human's who takes a shuddering breath.

“I'm not giving up,“ John promises against his lips, “We're gonna make it. Somehow we're gonna make it. We're not gonna let them win.“

“Yes,“ Dorian says and kisses him, “Yes.“

 

 

He doesn't know how long they remain like this, kissing and touching and no need for words. He has an internal clock and could count down the nanoseconds, but it does not matter. Time is meaningless.

Still, at some point Rudy shuffles his way back into the laboratory, avoiding to look at them. For all his social inabilities, he knows that he is intruding on their last moments together.  
Gently, Dorian pushes John away from him.

“It's time,“ he says like he did this morning and cannot bring himself to utter another word.

John just looks at him, swallows, nods tightly.

“See you soon, Tin Can Man,“ he says gruffly and runs a tongue over his teeth, taking a step back, clenching his fists, before turning and heading for the stairs.

Then he stops again, looks over his shoulder, his eyes closed.

“I swear by all that is holy... this is not the end, Dorian,“ he whispers, his voice rough.

Then he is clanking up the stair and out of the lab before anyone can say anything else.

“Is this... is this okay for you?“ Rudy asks carefully like he might break something if he spoke any louder, “That... that he's not here? I mean... he was the one who woke you. I thought it might be nice... though maybe I'm being macabre.“

“It's alright,“ Dorian replies serenely, lying back against the table and folding his hands over his chest, “I didn't want him to see me like that anyway.“

Like that. Decommissioned. Dead.

“He is right, though,“ Rudy notes, reaching for the magic wand that will take all life out of the android with a mere touch, “We'll get you back. So don't you worry, my friend.“

“Thank you, Rudy,“ Dorian says, “For everything.“

“Good night, Dorian,“ Rudy answers and it is the last thing Dorian hears, but in his head there is still the echo of John saying his name for the last time.

Then darkness follows.

 

 

Dorian's eyes snap open and he sits up abruptly.

“Oh my God,“ a female voice says, stunned. Immediately, he turns his head to look at the woman.

She seems familiar, though he cannot quite pinpoint why. Her long, gaunt face and pale eyes are full of childlike wonder, though she must be in her mid-twenties. In her hand there is a calibration device and he realizes that she must have just woken him.

He runs her image through his data bank, trying to find her name, whether she is in the force or a registered scientist, but he comes up with a blank. It worries him. It means that he might have been out for more than just a few weeks or months.

“It worked,“ she marvels, running her gaze up and down his body, assessing him, taking him in, “It actually worked.“

As the sense of visual familiarity remains, he decides to run his facial recognition subroutine in order to compare her to the rest of is memory.

There. Those are definitely Rudy's nose and cheekbones. Did Rudy have a sister or a niece? He had certainly never mentioned it during one of his lengthy monologues, not even when Dorian had been living with him.

“Hello,“ he says pleasantly, hoping to evoke a similar reaction, “My name is Dorian.“

“I know that, believe me,“ she says and then fumbles around a bit, almost dropping the calibration stick, “Oh, uh, I'm Maggie. Lom. Margaret Lom.“

“Are you Rudy's sister?“ Dorian asks politely, wondering why his friend is not here to wake him in her stead, worrying that something might have happened to him.

“His sister? God, no“, Maggie Lom laughs somewhat nervously, glancing over her shoulder and Dorian follows her gaze.

There in the corner of this cellar room that looks like an over-stuffed lab stands a hyper-modern hover chair, sleek and white, and in it sits an ancient man, painfully haggard and pale.

He stares into their direction, unseeing, but a wide smile has spread over his parchment face.

“It's good to hear your voice again, old friend,“ Rudy says and Dorian's world shatters.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha, ANGST.


	4. Detective Kennex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A fucking army!“ John hisses under his breath, resisting the urge to kick something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all: Sorry for the terribly long wait. I have no excuse except life and problems with plot holes.  
> That being said, this chapter kind of got away from me. What with the unfinished world building in Almost Human I desperately tried to match things up, but it was really difficult, especially as I had Star Trek facts to consider as well.  
> Some stuff that probably still doesn't make sense right now will only be revealed later. Still, I have a feeling that some things are just not adding up, so I'm probably going to edit it later on. But for now I just wanted to get the darn chapter out, though usually I'm much more knit-picky about intricate details.  
> So sorry if it's all kinda whonky, but bear with me. At least there's quite some delicious angst. ;-)

_"Being like you are_  
Well this is something else, who would comprehend?  
But some that do, lay claim  
Divine purpose blesses them  
That's not what I believe, and it doesn't matter anyway"

**2051 WEST COAST, USA**

It's strange to wake up alone in the morning. It's strange to go without someone insisting that he have proper breakfast while he shovels cereal into his mouth. It's strange how much empty space one person can leave behind.

There are few actual reminders of Dorian's former presence in his apartment. No toothbrush, no razor, no favorite flavor of Doritos. There's a small assortment of clothes that John had gifted him with, folded neatly in that one tiny drawer that Dorian had been so grateful to call his. A tight pair of dark jeans that made his ass look fantastic, a deep red button-up he liked to wear on their nights out, a suit jacket and a pair of dress shoes. Other than that, he had usually worn John's clothes, baggy sweatpants and thread-bare shirts, sometimes his underwear. Or nothing at all.

John would go for a piss and come back into the room to find Dorian lounging naked on the bed or even vacuum cleaning as if he were a fucking maid. And though John tried to resist the temptation, it usually ended up with him naked as well. Funny how the machine knew exactly how to push the human's buttons.

Now that is all gone. There's not even a lingering trace of Dorian's scent in the pillow.

But he should be used to this abrupt sort of loss, he thinks. When he woke up from the coma, everything familiar had been gone as well. Marty, Anna, his leg, even his fucking apartment, though Sandra had at least put his belongings in storage.

Now is not worse than back then. He isn't in constant pain and does not have to go through tedious months of physical treatment this time. And Dorian... Dorian has not died, has not betrayed him. He's merely on time-out, after having been benched.

That's the way John has decided to think about it. He's just sitting the game out. Not even the whole season. Not dead, not decommissioned. Just... benched because of the unfair decision of some stupid ref. That's all there is to it and John is going to get him back on the field. He only has to figure out how.

 

He'd never thought that he'd one day be thankful for having been relieved from his duties. Now, he doubtlessly has several weeks of leisure to prove that he and Dorian had been right, that someone was out to get them.

He is aware that, in theory, it won't change anything. Superficially, their case has nothing to do with their trial. And people have seen the footage, so his reputation is irreversibly damaged. Even if he could prove that the drone had been spying on him illegally, making the evidence officially useless, the best he could hope for was that he would not have to pay for the trial after all.

He'd still be the 'cop who banged his bot', as the news had so charmingly put it last evening.

But for now, his primary aim is to get Dorian back. Not necessarily in his life, in his flat, because he knows he screwed that up big time. But so that Dorian may live at all, as someone else's partner if need be or not as police bot at all. Just... get him back.

But first, he has to discredit whoever orchestrated the trial because he is pretty damned certain that the attorney was dirty. But the attorney had been sent in by the police department, which in turn was run by government representatives. One more pointer to their suspicion that something was not quite kosher in those circles.

So now he had to do alone what he had been trying to do with Dorian, even if it now came with a much greater risk, namely the knowledge that if he failed Dorian would possible be lost forever. But those pessimistic thoughts wouldn't get him anywhere. He just had to solve this case and hope for the best. And he knew exactly where to start.

 

The Wall hasn't always been there. Obviously. But it sure feels that way sometimes.

John spent his childhood in the growing shadow of that thing.

Back then it seemed daunting, dangerous even. The older he got, though, the more he learned to roll his eye at it.

Once, the Wall had been supposed to be a symbol of choice. Now that notion seemed entirely laughable, but apparently it had started inconspicuously enough with a just handful of the usual crazies.

Back then, the media had started calling them the New Amish, and as politically incorrect as that term was, it still caught on quickly.

They were a group of fanatics, not connected by an actual religion, but by their beliefs that the technological progress of the world was bad, that especially this city was becoming more and more corrupt, that the people were losing their humanity.

There was a series of riots. Attacks on corporations that were distributing the first proper android prototypes, Anti-Android Activists being terrorized.

No one quite knew who had started it and after all you couldn't just lay the blame for single acts of crime against an entire fraction. In a way, it was the same old stupid story that had happened over and over again. The Triple As were camping and campaigning in front of city hall and various factories, just like some idiots still spend hours holding up their carton signs and shouting angry rallying cries in front of every single abortion clinic across the nation.

For some reason, though, the New Amish had more success. They demanded segregation. And somehow, they got it.

The Triple As started a settlement that more and more people joined who were all convinced that a life without any technological progress was more worthwhile, because God created it that way or because of whatever stupid arguments they could think of. Generally, they seemed just as unreasonable and misguided as that whole anti-vaccinations crowd, but there were enough people who bought into that.

Eventually, they wanted more than just their tiny island of like-minded people. They wanted actual isolation from the bad influence that was folks who enjoyed stuff such as light bulbs and vibrators and everything that distracted you from a simple life in tune with nature or whatever.

New Amish, Triple As, Flower Power Rejects, call them what you will. The state agreed to build the wall and that was that for a little while.

But then people on this side got suspicious. If they had no tec over there, they could not be supervised. Did they even have law enforcement? Whom did they pay taxes to? Was the grass greener on the other side?

Now one seemed to know for sure, until the government decided to officially cut off the Beyonders, for better or worse. From then on, the Wall was treated as the Border Fence between the US and Mexico, heavily guarded and with a healthy dose of distrust. No one was to cross – and generally with good reason.

Because if the no vaccinations deal was really a thing – which seemed probable without any labs and tec and stuff – then there was always the danger of an epidemic outbreak and the virus in question having enough leeway to evolve and even affect vaccinated people on this side of the Wall.

Then there was the fact that no one here would be able to identify anyone from beyond because there was absolutely no exchange of information. What sort of currency did they even use? How much had their language changed over fifty years? What did their political system look like?

There were conspiracy theorists that John, at least, never listened to. He'd seen trespassers every now and again, but usually they weren't something his division concerned themselves with, unless they committed a murder or got killed themselves. Usually, once detained, they simply got sent back over, unless they had a real good reason for emigrating in the first place. 'I've heard of this thing called the movies' usually wasn't good enough, though, so most tried to keep their heads down and not draw any attention to themselves.

So some years down the road and no one could tell for sure what the hell was going on beyond there anyway. Segregation succeeded.

Nowadays, people simply accepted the Wall. Were still kind of wary of the damn thing, but accepted it nonetheless. If people over there wanted to live that way, why force them to change? Out of sight, out of mind. Or something like that.

John should have known that nothing could ever been that easy.

 

They had suspected that Doctor Vaughn might have fled behind the Wall, but they had never been sure. Of course, he'd be save from local law enforcement, but wouldn't a brilliant mind like his prefer the risk of being caught instead of living in a world wasn't even the most simplest of circuits, much less someone who endorsed his interest in androids.

And why would he have stolen the Synthetic Souls when he wouldn't have been able to do anything with them beyond, neither sell them nor use them himself. So they had dismissed that line of thought and simply assumed he'd dropped off the radar somehow else.

Because if anyone could slip away in a city of constant surveillance through cams and MXs, it was Doctor Nigel Vaughn.

That bot of his, Danica or whatever he had called her, should have been a dead giveaway, that there was enough crazy stowed away in his head that he would not just disappear forever after he had actually trumped the Delta precinct. Maybe they had been too naive.

 

“A fucking army!“ John hisses under his breath, resisting the urge to kick something, “All this time I think that Insyndicate is run by the government, and now I find out that that's the least of our problems.“

It took weeks of careful planning. Of persuading the right kind of shady people who still owed him a couple of favors. Of blackmailing that kid hacker Crispin to design him a general override code that could subtle force its way into most systems. Of making his way over the fucking Wall when he could have been at home, drinking hot chocolate.

But hot chocolate made him think of Dorian, his skin brown and warm and smooth, and if John had to choose between some drink that wasn't even bourbon and some idiot that serenaded him with inane love songs then it sure as hell wasn't going to be the chocolate.

Anyway, that's kinda how he found himself where he had never fancied himself going.

Because living in tune with nature his ass.

At first glance there were a bunch of trees and some inconspicuous houses made of wood, small roads and little to no people around, and John couldn't help but thing that New Amish maybe wasn't such an inaccurate term after all.

But while his eyes told him the same thing that the occasional drone that had swept of the sector had confirmed years ago, his scanners told him a whole different story. Namely that beneath that peaceful idyll of sheep and dandelions there was an entire system of tunnels or bunkers beneath. Getting access to them had been ridiculously easy. Probably because no one expected a single man to break in. Not that John broke anything. He simply located which of the huts, according to his scanner, was most likely to hide a doorway that led into the tunnels, made short work of the circuits in the fuse box (why, hello, electricity in contemporary Stone Age), and sauntered down the hall that presented itself as the door slid open.

He was wearing a scrambler that should disrupt most cams, but there was no telling whether it would work on whatever unknown tec might have been developed here. Did they just steal ideas from the other side or had they come up with new things that were incompatible with and immune to whatever John was forced to use? He hoped the former because otherwise the code which Crispin had affectionately dubbed Mistress Key would possibly not work at all.

That had been half an hour ago. Occasionally, John had been forced to duck into one of the smaller tunnels that kept branching out, whenever he heard people coming, but those people looked normal enough, not military or anything, and they certainly didn't seem to have the skills to notice an intruder. So he just kept following the main tunnel, wondering where it led and whether people would even pay him any mind if they spotted him. Maybe he was just walking towards the cafeteria or something. He certainly hadn't seen anyone carry a weapon.

Eventually, he had reached a door that was simply labeled as BOTS. Nothing more specific. When he'd gotten closer, it had opened all of its own. That probably should have made him suspicious right then and there.  
Instead he had ducked into the room. It was mostly dark with just some neon tubes running along the ceiling and casting an unpleasantly cold white shine. When John had looked around he found that he was standing on a metal gallery, a stairway just in front of him leading down to a lower level, and that the room was actually a hall.

But when John had peered over the railing, his breath had caught.

Rows upon rows of bots stood there on the bleak concrete floor, only decorated by a network of cables that crisscrossed from one android to the next, apparently connecting them all to a common source of energy – and to each other. In the faint light their silhouettes, still and imposing, seemed even more eerie.

It didn't take John long to connect the dots. Those were more bots than he had ever seen at the MX charging facility whenever he had picked up Dorian. No one needed that many robots. Unless they were planning something really, really bad.

Immediately, John's thoughts went to Doctor Vaughn and his nearly indestructible android Danica. How much damage she had done off her own. And how many siblings she possibly had.

So that's how he now found himself bent low over one of the computers on the wall that seemed to operate the fucking robot army, desperately hoping that Mistress Key was compatible with the system and could somehow take them all down at once.

He had neither the time nor the means to contact anyone. The standard communication devices didn't work beyond the Wall and even if he managed to return home without any trouble, there was no telling whether anyone could really help.

How would they organize a raid against a literal underground organization that had a frigging army stored in their basement as if they were mere tuna cans stacked in a pantry? Would exactly should he even tell if the government and even the police force had been overtaken by Insyndicate? And even if he found someone he could trust, would they ever believe him? After all he had been discredited and unofficially kicked out of the force. He was the pervert who slept with his DRN. They'd probably take him for a raging maniac if he started telling tall tales about an android army strong enough to lay waste to the entire city.

Suddenly someone tuts behind John and he freezes.

“Sorry to crash the party,“ a familiar voice says and for a moment he is sure his heart has stopped.

Closing his eyes for a second and wetting his lips with his tongue, John hesitates to turn around. When he finally does, he wears a stoic mask.

“Anna,“ he greets her, “I'd like to say it's good to see your face, but actually I kinda wanna stab it, so...“

She grins, her teeth perfect and white. He loved her smile once.

“Oh John,“ she says, shaking her head in faux amusement, “Always the joker and with the worst timing possible.“

“And you seem to have a thing for quietly dramatic entrances,“ John retorted, “But I can't really judge that, seeing that I apparently never really got to know you.“

“Astute observation right there,“ her nose crinkles in the way he had once found adorable, “Till the very end I was thinking that surely you must have suspected something. But you ran right into my trap. I was a bit disappointed, to be honest. Everyone told me you had inherited your father's gut instincts, but... hm, not quite.“

 

“Why me?“ he demands, hating the fact that he can feel tears burning in his eyes.

“Because you were alone,“ she answer, “Because you needed someone to be nice to you and I needed someone who would be trusting enough to just let all that inside info just lay around the apartment for me to copy.“

She sweeps her gaze along his body, cocking an eyebrow in a slightly self-deprecating way, before adding, “And someone who wouldn't make me gag whenever I had to blow him.“

He doesn't know whether to take it as a compliment or an insult but it hurts either way.

“We... we had good times,“ he tries to remind her, but she just chuckles.

“It's not that I've got anything against you personally, John,“ she tells him and he's starting to loathe the way with how much emphasis she speaks his name, “You just have to realize that for me it was never about any feelings. I'm not going to be swayed by your declarations of love. I'm not here for that.“

Attempting to catch his bearing, John forces himself to breathe through his nose, straightening his shoulders.

“Well, I guess we got something in common then,“ he replies and feels wonderfully vindictive when her eyes narrow, “Cause I'm not here for that either.“

“Ah,“ instant understanding spreads on her face, “Your little synthetic boy toy. Tell me, John, wouldn't a sexbot have been enough?“

“Don't you dare,“ he grits out, “Don't you dare make fun of him after you've already walked out on me like that.“

“It's like that now, is it?“ she asks, a sharp smile on her lips, “I'm the psycho ex and he's your one true love? Well, I got bad news for you, baby, because your fairy tale is over. You're the damsel in distress but your Prince Charming is playing Sleeping Beauty and neither can save the other. How's that work for a happy ending?“

“Screw you,“ he tells her, “Screw you so hard.“

“You already tried that repeatedly,“ she taunts, “Not exactly the best sex of my life, I have to admit.“

All of a sudden, John feels violated. He'd known for a while that Anna had only used him because of Insyndicate. But now facing her after all these years was simply too much. The knowledge that she had snooped through his things, that she wanted to find out whatever his father had known, that she was working on discrediting both of them – it make him sick. She'd kissed him and told him she loved him. He'd been ready to propose and build a life with her, have kids maybe, get that dog she always wanted. And then she had gone and killed his team. Nearly killed him.

John has to clench his fists in order to remain calm.

“So my father was really was on to something,“ he theorizes. He'd never found out what exactly Edward Kennex had to die for, apart from the mere bad feeling that it was to do with Insyndicate as well. That knowledge of being unable to find the truth and establish justice was even worse than the actual pain of losing his father in the first place. The fact that Anna was somehow part of it all only added insult to injury.  
His father had fallen pray to Insyndicate's plans like John later would during the raid. And like he just did again, as it seems.

With a cold shudder John realizes that no one knew what he had been planning to do. He had avoided telling anyone because he wanted to protect the few loved ones he still had. Somehow he had disregarded the fact that he had therefore destroyed every chance of anyone else protecting 'him' as well.

His mask must've slipped, but then again Anna was always able to read him embarrassingly well, and now, too, she seems to know exactly what he is thinking.

“John,“ both her tone and expression are mockingly pitying, like whenever he complained about his cereal being soggy after he had spent too much time on the damned crossword puzzle in the morning newspaper. Except this is much more important that good cereal and the knowledge makes bile rise in his throat.

“You didn't honestly think you could sneak in undetected, did you?“ she asks, taking a step closer. It's not exactly threatening, but John presses closer to the wall nonetheless.

“We've been watching you since before you started making the climb,“ she adds and his eyes narrow in realization. He should have known that this was all too easy.

“You led me into a trap,“ he says, hoping it sounds more like a growl than a whimper.

“No, John,“ she shakes her head as if he were a small, mentally deficient child, “You led yourself into a trap.“

She shrugs her shoulders and flips her hair in a downright flippant way.

“I didn't want any of this to happen,“ she tells him as if she were the one being wronged, "If you had simply stayed out of the Force after your coma, everything would be fine. But no, you had to go and get involved again. And then you keep snooping around and we take out your bot and get you suspended – and you're still here. Is it a death wish or a hero complex? I'm never quite sure.“

She lifts a hand and gestures around the hall, indication that whole synthetic nightmare, „You have to understand that I can't just let you walk away after you've seen all this. You'd go running back to your Captain and then all hell would break lose. We don't want that, now do we?“

"What is this even?“ John demands, tired of her talking. His jaw aches from gritting his teeth so fiercely, "I admit I don't much like the ugly mugs of the MX either, but making your own special set seems a little overboard, don't you think?“

“Just keep making your little jokes,“ she smiles, but then her stare grows intense, “You always thought that Insyndicate was your biggest problem. But this? This is it. This is a revolution.“

“Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but you'll need more than just a few puppets to overthrow the system,“ John drawls, hoping to sound bored. It doesn't quite work.

“You think we're the only base?“ she gives a light laugh, “This isn't just about the city, John. We're taking over the entire nation.“

“Well, I always knew you had your moments of vanity and arrogance, but,“ he gives a low whistle, “I'd never have taken you to be megalomaniac.“

“It's not megalomania if you're just a few weeks away from achieving it,“ she points out serenely, “You've been underestimating us for years. And we're gonna make you regret it.“

“What the hell to you people even want to revolutionize?“ John barks, starting for feel truly helpless, “Just replace one set of bots with another?“

“It's not about the bots, you imbecile,“ Anna suddenly hissed, “Even you have to know that the government is corrupt!“

“You're not making it better by invading it and distributing drugs on the streets!“ he counters angrily, “You're off your fucking rocker!“

“At least I'm doing something!“ she replies and advances again, “And I'm a damn sight better than what your people have ever managed! So shut the hell up!“

He stumbles back when she lifts her hand, and expecting her to slap or scratch him, he lifts his arm to block her attack, fumbling for his weapon with the other. But once more, Anna is smarter than that. There's a sort of electrical stinging sensation on the back of his hand and he immediately knows that she has used a stun gun.

But then it's already too late.

 

When he comes around again, he is strapped to a table. Which is horribly cliche in his opinion, but terrifying nonetheless.

There is a person in white moving around the periphery of his vision, but when he turns his head to the left, Anna is simply standing across the room, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, watching him.  
The room is some sort of lab or something and John can feel bile rising at the back of his throat when his vivid imagination provides him with some possible scenarios of what might happen now.

“You never knew how to pick your fight,“ Anna muses casually, looking him dead in the eye, “That was always your greatest weakness. Aside from your naivety, that it.“

“Shut the fuck up, you back-stabbing turd,“ John retorts, choosing to stare up at the ceiling instead of her lovely face, “My ears are already itching from your stupid evil monologue. You're not that interesting, you know. So if you're gonna kill me, just get it over with.“

Despite his hopes, Anna only chuckles.

“Oh no, we won't kill you,“ she promises, “We've got something much more... elegant in mind.“

Torture, John thinks, his breath hitching in panic. Body modifications. Experiments. Brain-washing.

But once more Anna just keeps talking.

“I know about the tracker in your arm,“ she reminds him, “I know that if it's removed it will send a signal. I know that if you die it will send a signal. I know that there is at least a remote possibility that your little friends will be able to track it. And I know that I'm not gonna risk that.“

Every member of law enforcement has a tracker chip. The signal can be muted or twisted so that it's difficult or even impossible to detect a missing police officer. But eventually, if you have to get rid of the body or something, the sensors will pick up that the tracker has been inactive for a while.

So it usually doesn't do shit to help you stay alive, but it will at least alert someone that you have been murdered.

If Anna's people have found way to continuously confuse the tracker he's well and truly fucked. They could ship him off to France and everyone might think he's just settled down there to enjoy the rest. The way he's been treating Rudy and Sandra lately they might even believe that.

Suddenly, the person in white enters his line of sight, leaning over him. As he suspected, it's a doctor in a lab coat. The man's face is indifferent, not even really looking at John as he pierces a needle into the detective's arm, preparing an IV.

“Cryo technology,“ Anna explains in tone that should be strictly reserved for small talk, “The long-term effects of the serum haven't quite been tested yet. But you should definitely survive. At least for as long as it matters.“

John knows of cryo technology of course. There were plan to revolutionize space travel by simply freezing up the astronauts and defrosting them light-years away from Earth. Problem was that the defrosting usually didn't quite work out and more than one test subject had died.

Since then it had mostly been used in more obscure contexts. Such as offering it up to convicts who choose it as a preferable alternative to just sitting out the time until their eventual execution. So either you didn't have to sit around waiting for death or you didn't even wake up after the defrosting at all. It was rather controversial and definitely fucked up and apparently it was a way to keep him alive and detained and still have his tracker keep working.

God, how he hates this century.

He can feel the IV dripping the serum into his veins, like fluid ice spreading through his entire body.

Immediately his fingers start feeling stiff and he can practically feel his lips turning blue, his eye lids begin to droop.

“I hope you don't mind the cold,“ the Anna says in a vaguely apologetic tone, “You will sleep for a long time now.“

John tries to fight it, tries to fight like when his leg was blown-off and he still kept crawling away. But still, it's futile. There is no explosion, no noise, but all the same, everything turns black. His last thought is how ironic it seems that once more, Anna's face is the last thing he sees.

  
  


 


	5. Rudy Stahl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rudy visibly deflates. It must be strange for him, too. Decades have passed, but the way Dorian remembers it, he and John had been kissing down in the lab less than five minutes ago.

_"A part of your soul ties you to the next world_  
Or maybe to the last, but I'm still not sure  
But what I do know, is to us the world is different  
As we are to the world but I guess you would know that"

**2122 WEST COAST, FORMER USA, UNITED PLANET EARTH**

Maggie is not Rudy's sister, but his granddaughter and a scientist, just like him, though her specialty is starships, not androids.

It is the year 2122. Dorian has been asleep for sixty-two years.

“I turned one-hundred-and-seven last month,“ Rudy declares proudly and affectionately pats the armrest of his hover chair, “It pays to have trust in progress of medicine and technology.“

“Rudy,“ Dorian says and his own voice feels like an echo inside of his own body, empty and meaningless, “What happened? Why... why didn't you wake me earlier?“

“I couldn't,“ Rudy rasps, his voice breathless with age and momentary excitement, “After all that happened, I had reasons to believe that I was being closely watched as well. The Captain warned me not to do anything stupid. So... I managed to replace your... your corpse, if you want, with the body of another DRN in such a way that no one would notice the difference. Then I stored you away. For spare parts and experimenting, in case anyone asked. No one ever did. But... it never felt safe. Then First Contact happened, of course-“

“First Contact?“ Dorian echoes, “What's that?“

“Oh, silly me, you can't know that,“ Rudy scrunches up his nose, “I'll give you a complete data transfer later on, but for now... there are alien life forms out there. Hundreds of planets and thousands of species. One of them, the Vulcans, made first contact when we achieved warp technology. Now we have worked our way towards a United Earth.“

Rudy is the kind of person that could cook up such a crazy story without even blinking. But Dorian instinctively know that he is speaking the truth. But that is not what matters right now.

“John,“ he says instead, “What about John?“

Rudy visibly deflates. It must be strange for him, too. Decades have passed, but the way Dorian remembers it, he and John had been kissing down in the lab less than five minutes ago.

“John... did everything he could,“ Rudy recalls sadly, “Everything to prove that you deserved to live. They... kicked him out of the force. But... he was obsessed. He kept trying to solve that case you had been working on, hoping to find proof for why Insyndicate – or anyone they were involved with – might want him out of the way. He hoped that if he could only find some evidence, they'd let you wake up again.“

“But he failed,“ Dorian concludes, “Where is he now? Is he-?“

He can't say it. If Rudy is alive then there is a chance that John, too-

“I don't know,“ Rudy shakes his head, “One day, he was gone. He'd been subtly keeping in touch with the Captain and Val and me, but... then he simply disappeared. Maybe he died. Maybe he gave up. Though... I like neither of those possibilities.“

Dorian doesn't need to breathe, yet he feels like he is hyperventilating, his chest too tight, the room too small.

“Then why...“ he asks brokenly, “Why did you wake me at all?“

“You know me, Dorian,“ Rudy says wistfully, “I've always been a sentimental fool.“

He is silent for a moment, his face growing shadowed.

“I am old and dying,“ he continues finally, “Call me selfish, but... I just wanted to stay true to my promise to you and wake you up again.“

A flame of anger flickers in Dorian's wiring, “What good is it to me when John is gone?“

“Maybe you've forgotten it,“ Rudy answers, “But John was not the only one who cared about you.“

No, Dorian agrees, But he was the only who truly loved me.

 

 

“Valerie died on the field,“ Rudy says as he transfers Dorian general data on everything that the last decades have brought along. Warp speed and Star Fleet. Vulcans and Klingons.

“She was young, too young. Barely ten years after you were decommissioned. She saved three civilians. But still... it could have been avoided. She was... she was supposed to be one of the great ones.“  
“She was,“ Dorian agrees quietly as he looks at her picture, her face slightly older, but still unusually beautiful, “What about the Captain?“

“Whoever wanted John out had realized that she was a danger as well. Too upstanding, too stubborn,“ Rudy smiles a little, but its tinged with bitterness, “Once they were on to her, they made every failure of the Delta precinct her fault. Eventually, she was forced to step down. It was... not pretty. But she said, she'd rather retire than keep working under such corrupt circumstances. I... quit a few months after John's disappearance. I loved my work and it had given me the best friends I had in my entire life. But it had also taken them from me in the cruelest of ways. I could not bear it. I... stole you and became independent. Quite successfully, if I may say so.“

“And Detective Paul?“

“He stayed,“ Rudy scratches his chin, “Refused a promotion, preferred to work on the field. He was a workaholic, like John.“

“He was,“ Dorian agrees quietly, “He was.“

 

 

Dorian stays with the Loms. Maggie and Rudy only really have each other and they are glad for the addition to their small family. Their combined forces of technological skill and creativity give Dorian an update to make him compatible with the other tech of their century.

He learns as much as he can about this new world. It doesn't look much different, but it feels smaller now, knowing that people travel between the planets within mere days, that there are other species out there. There are Orions posing for lingerie and Rigelians presenting their improved replicators and Dorian cannot help but think about what Valerie had said all those years ago during the trial.

Every generation has its fight. Would people still be shocked at him and John when surely there must be interspecies relationships now, even if a lot of Earth citizens express distrust and racism when it comes to Romulans and Klingons and basically anyone who is 'alien'? If marriage between all sentient life forms has been legalized, would Dorian fall into that category? Would everything have been different if First Contact had been made while John was still alive?

He has not yet come to terms with the loss. It is... too sudden and unexpected. Nearly everything he knew is just... gone. Was this how John felt when he woke from his coma, misplaced and alone in a world where his friends were dead and his girlfriend had left him? He realizes now why John was the way he was back then, why he was so reluctant to let anyone get close to him, so quick to brush off any sort of affection. Because he knew too well just how easy it could all be taken away. And how much it hurt.

I left him, too, Dorian knows, I left him and he was so broken than no one even knows what happened to him.

He wonders whether John committed suicide, but he cannot imagine it. Doesn't want to imagine it. If anything, he had been a tenacious bastard. He kept crawling when his leg was blown off. Surely, he would have kept fighting, when his android was decommissioned.

It's not exactly a soothing thought, but it gets him through his days when there isn't really anything else. He wants to ask Rudy whether there have ever been any bots suffering from depression, but it wouldn't be of any use. Most of what he feels must be sorrow and desperation and that is probably an understandable reaction. He does not want to get rid of those feeling just by making some changes in his coding, even if it were possible. Humans cannot just erase their pain. Dorian won't try it either.

 

 

He likes Maggie. She makes him laugh when looking at Rudy only makes him remember.

She tells him stories about how Rudy met her grandmother, about how she went to Mars last year, how she once tried to eat the robotic dog that Rudy had built for her third birthday.

She's easy company, Rudy's babbling and a hint of his awkwardness combined with a curiosity that reminds him of himself. She never asks him about his past, though, never expects him to talk about his feelings. She probably knows all that he does, obviously having grown up listening to her grandfather narrating the tragic tale of John and Dorian.

The rough hero who's been hurt in the past, and the unexpected lover who coaxes him out of his shell. It reads like a fairy tale without a happy ending. Dorian doesn't know whether to hate it.

They spend a lot of time in the labs while Rudy is sleeping. He's surprisingly lucid for someone his age, but still weak and tired all the time. Dorian knows that it wasn't just a figure of speech when Rudy said he had wanted to wake him while he still had the time. Because with all the technology and knowledge in the world, time is still not something one can create.

 

 

It's October when he dies.

Rudy Lom, who's always had such a love for the dramatic, goes neither with a whimper nor with a bang. Instead he goes with a small, content smile on his withered lips.

Dorian does not cry. He feels like he should, but he is terribly empty. Rudy, loyal and awkward and all-forgiving, was all that remained of his old life. Now that is gone, too.

Next to him, Maggie is sniffing loudly. He cannot bring himself to comfort her.

She has lost her grandfather, but she still has friends and colleagues and neighbors. Dorian lost the last of the handful of people he ever had a connection to.

At least this time, he was able to say goodbye. It still doesn't make death any easier.

 

 

“I got a work offer,“ Maggie tells him a few weeks later, hands on her hips as if to keep from flailing around.

“That is wonderful“, Dorian answers pleasantly, “Congratulations.“

“It's on an Earth colony,“ she adds, “I think... I'd have to ask, but you could probably come with.“

For a moment, Dorian pauses. The thought had never even occurred to him. The idea of space as the final frontier is still so new to him, that he never even considered it for himself. Because he likes Earth. He likes humanity. He likes rain and traffic jams and walks in the park and mocking birds and... he's been designed to adapt easily, but this is too big. He cannot... not so shorty after Rudy passed away. He'd be adrift and drowning in such unfamiliar surroundings. What he needs now is something to ground him.

“That's sweet of you,“ he tells Maggie, lowering his head, “But I don't think I should.“

Maggie looks at him, lips pursed, eyes wide, but nodding slowly.

“I thought so,“ she agrees, “But in that case we have to make some preparations

He frowns, “Preparations for what?“

She only grins, “To make you a real boy, of course. At least, in the eyes of the law.“

 

 

The name he chooses is sentimental, he knows. But it feels appropriate. Like a piece of home.

He watches as Maggie constructs two fake histories for him, one for an android – and one for a human. Where he was born and where he was built, his parents, his creators, the jobs he's had and the places he has lived. It takes hours, though he suspects that Maggie has been planning this for a while.

She and Rudy had already modified him to make it easier for him to blend in with the crowds. No blinking lights, no weird beeping. When he goes grocery shopping, people barely glance at him like he were one of them. It's one of the few things he's been enjoying.

“There you go,“ Maggie finally says and presents him with an all-new identity chip which he knows it ten kinds of illegal but still authentic, “Welcome to the world, Rudy Stahl.“

 

 

Five months after Rudy's death, Dorian drives Maggie to the space port.

“Keep the car,“ she tells him and stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, “And don't forget to send some postcards.“

“Will do,“ he promises and smiles one final time at the only person in this world who still knows everything about him.

So he muddles through. It's not that difficult, considering he doesn't really need food or shelter. When needed, he hooks himself up in one of the charger cafés that have popped up in every city. He is thankful for the necessary modifications Maggie has made in his design, allowing him to harness different kinds of energy and to access them in various ways so he is never really in danger of running out of fuel.

Still, he is always looking for an occupation. Not so much because of the money, though it is nice to be able to afford to buy new clothes now and again, but because he needs distraction.

Mostly he keeps an eye open in areas where day-laborers might be needed. The unemployed and illegal are swarming the big cities, but no one ever turns him away when they realize that he can lift hundreds of pounds without breaking a sweat. Construction work is not what he was built for, but his employers are thankful for a cheap android who can fit into tight spaces and think for himself. It's incredibly useful.

Occasionally, he snatches up short-term jobs as a T.A. in more rural areas where people eye him suspiciously every time he starts anew, but the kids love him and he is a good teacher. He imagines that this is something he would have liked to do, if he hadn't been a detective. But he doesn't allow himself to dwell on it.

Quickly, he feels like he has worked in every sector imaginable. He's been a waiter, a taxi driver, a window washer, but also a dance instructor and a masseur. He thinks of John laughing and calling him his personal coffee heater, and it hurts.

 

 

He stays in contact with Maggie for a while.

Though officially stationed at the colony, she is often off-planet now, working with members of strange species on how to improve ship designs and engines.

Dorian feels old. The time he has spent awake on earth amounts to merely a few years, but he still feels like he cannot keep up. He's an android with access to all the knowledge in the world, but he is flabbergasted by the idea of aliens. Actual real live aliens. What would John say?

The thought hurts.

Dorian had always enjoyed being able to feel, to emotionally respond to the people around him, to express what was going on inside of him. Now it is overwhelming.

His various colleagues grow to like him, invite him for beers though most of them know he does not, cannot drink. But it's not what it used to be when he watched Valerie drink John under the table. These people call him Rudy and know that he is an outdated android without an owner. They accept him in their midst like they would a stray dog. There's no real sense of belonging, of companionship. His fear of being adrift in space has finally come true on Earth as well.

 

 

Eventually, his messages to Maggie taper off. It's difficult to establish a working connection to a ship in deep space. He could possibly even hack a transmission line, but it seems too dangerous to draw attention to himself.

Before he knows what has happened, forty years have passed since he was woken for the third time in his existence. His physical body now looks younger than most humans would after an equally long life.  
It occurs to him that, for all intents and purposes, he is practically immortal.

One day, he gets a notification, letting him know that Margaret Virginia Lom has passed away. As she leaves no family, she has bestowed the entirety of her material possessions to one Rudy Stahl.

That is the day Dorian decides to leave Earth.

  
  


 


	6. Subject B2/27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We're there, sir,“ the voice next to him says like that's any explanation at all.
> 
> “Where there?“ McCoy demands, the frown on his face only intensifying the headache, but his face just won't relax.
> 
> “At the shipyard, sir.“

_"Please don't go, I want you to stay_  
I'm begging you please, please don't leave here  
I don't want you to hate for all the hurt that you feel  
The world is just illusion trying to change you"

  
  


**2255 - DES MOINES, IOWA**

"We propose this one as a viable test subject," one of the newbies, Yeun, suggests carefully. The other one, Gormack, is nodding in agreement.

Doctor Morales glances down at the PPAD they have handed her. Subject B2/27.

White human male. Aged thirty-nine when first entered into the system, has been asleep for nearly two-hundred years.  
His health tests before the procedure were below average, his psych evaluation even worse. He's a cripple and a criminal, there's nothing more to say.

"What's so special about this one?" she asks her trainees instead. Yeun and Gormack exchange a glance.

"We have carefully evaluated all the date provided in his files," Yeun replies, tugging at her sleeve, "And while we know that he is not necessarily the most likely candidate to survive being woken again, we have found other reasons why he deserves a chance."

Morales frowns, "A chance? We are talking about enemies of the state here."

"But that's the thing, Doctor," Gormack says seriously, staring her dead in the eye, "I have read up on the historical background of cryogenics and noticed an off-hand reference to the Revolution of 2064."

Morales pauses before answering, "History is not my field of study, Doctor Gormack, but as far as I'm aware there was no such thing."

"Exactly," Gormack says, "There had been plans, but the revolution was thwarted because Vulcan made first contact and the first steps towards a united world government were finally taken. Otherwise there would have been a war, possibly even a genocide."

"So what, this-" she reads the numeration again, "B2/27 was one of the would-be usurpers?"

But both Yeun and Gormack shake their heads.

"We... located his former files," Yeun blushes faintly, probably because 'located' translates to 'illegally obtained', "And he was not exactly a criminal at all. He was a police detective who nearly uncovered the whole scheme. So they... got rid of him. Framed him, possibly. Set him up in a mock trial so that he would be sentenced... well, not to death, but as good as. Cryogenics were a popular alternative back then."

Morales knows that cryogenics were a popular alternative. She works with those subjects everyday. She is well-aware that her job is rather shady. That she takes murderers and terrorists and tries to re-integrate them into society, two-hundred years after they were born.

  
She erases the coding and only leaves the hard-ware so she can install a new program. The ethically questionable equivalent of psychological rehabilitation. She's made loving fathers out of people who - in a former life - had killed their families. Teachers and librarians out of drug dealers and mobsters.

In a way, she's playing God she knows. But she's not omniscient.

In the long history of the juridical system, there have always been innocent people who's been wrongfully sentenced to death. Usually, they do not get to make up for that mistake. Today, maybe they do.

"Well then," she announces, handing the PPAD back to Yeun, "Let's start with the ICP and get B2/27 fired up, shall we?"

Her trainees only smile in giddy excitement.

 

 

In a way, the Identity Construction Process is the most fun, but also the most tedious. It's certainly the part that takes the longest.

“Alright, what shall we call him?“ Morales asks, hands on her hips. She wants to know whether her trainees found out the man's real name, but there's no real use. He can't go back to that identity. Nothing may remind him of his former life. It could literally kill him.

“Uh... first name Leonard,“ Gormack reads off their name generator, “Last name McCoy.“

“Second name?“ Morales prompts, “That helps to sell it.“

Gormack hits up the generator once more.

“Horatio?“ he offers. Morales blinks, then shrugs. Slightly weird names are usually the most convincing. They'll add some story about him being named after some beloved great-uncle or something and that will be that.

“And where's he from?“ she asks instead.

“Georgia,“ Yeun answers at once, “My grandmother lived in Georgia. It's nice there.“

“Fine by me. Find him a hometown and get to working on his legal documents. Birth certificate, enrollment to his schools, you know the drill,“ Morales nods to herself, “Any ideas for a life story and carreer?“

“Maybe a fire fighter,“ Gormack muses, but she waves him off, “Too close to his former job. He might remember.“

And remembering is dangerous. Always.

“A doctor, then,“ Yeun says eagerly, “Not... not like us, but... a country doctor. Doctor McCoy from Georgia.“

Morales raises an eyebrow, “That's gonna be a lot of work. Are you up to faking his credentials and, most of all, his knowledge?“

“Yes,“ Yeun nods with determination, “He deserves it.“

“A career as a doctor?“

“A second chance,“ Yeun corrects and Morales can only agree.

“But we need reason for him to cut all ties. Why does a country doctor not have anything to call his own?“

“Divorce,“ Gormack says. It's their usual excuse, apart from the violent death of someone beloved, which usually appears unnecessarily cruel.

“He worked too much,“ Gormack continues, “Drank too much, maybe. Neglected his family. The wife got upset. Didn't want him around their daughter anymore. Lengthy law suit followed, she got everything including sole custody. He's off to start anew.“

“Sounds plausible,“ Morales agrees, “You work on building memories of his family. Add some trivia. His kid's favorite toy, whatever. Don't forget his own childhood, relationship to his parents, maybe a pet. When all that is done, we can set him up for his new life.“

“And where's that, ma'am?“ Yeun asks.

“Where they always need good doctors,“ Morales replies, “Star Fleet.“

 

 

The data transfer takes six days.

The human brain is a fickle thing. It's nigh on impossible to erase all traces of the subject's former self, especially since they usually don't know much about their subjects.

At the same time you have to be careful not to destroy any of the other functions the individual has already learned. How to walk and write. How to hold a spoon as opposed to chop sticks. Yeun spent hours working on his language facilities, so that he would get that Georgian accent just right, complete with a colorful vocabulary and a few nervous habits.

Then there are the memories that have to be layered over. B2/27 probably knows how to operate a car, but nowadays hover cars are standard. He needs knowledge about modern inventions and political events. Maybe an annoying current pop song stuck in his head.

If Gormack's and Yeun's research was correct, their subject was put into cryostasis before First Contact was even made. He has no idea about the Federation and everything it entails. Not yet, anyway.

Without doubt, the most difficult part is to turn him into a doctor. Not just a doctor who has seemingly valid qualifications, but a doctor who can perform surgery on someone to save their life.

While the transfer is being made, her small team works on adding the last details to the man's life in order to make sure that no one will question his existence – least of all Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy.

After that it done, they finally initiate the final step: waking subject B2/27 from his cryostasis.

It's a dangerous affair. He might go into shock or cardiac arrest if they are not careful.

They drip-feed him, shine artificial sunlight on him in order to get his skin re-acclimated. After the ninth days he is able to breathe by himself and they start some mild physical therapy.

Morales has gotten her hands on a modern prosthesis and put together a bag of things a Doctor McCoy would own. A few clothes, a holovid of his supposed daughter Joanna, a silver flask to go with the high-functioning alcoholic story they assigned him.

Then they transfer some money to his new bank account and mark him with a locator chip where he is unlike to notice.

Once that's done, they unhook him from the last of the machines and shoot him up with a mild sedative. Now timing is of the essence.

 

 

“Sir? Sir,“ the voice sounds slightly urgent. McCoy feels like he should wake in an instant, but instead he is groggy and disoriented. There's a fierce stabbing sensation behind his eyes and in his temples and his mouth tastes like something has died in there.

“'m awake,“ he drawls, weakly pushing away the hands that keep prodding him.

“We're there, sir,“ the voice next to him says like that's any explanation at all.

“Where there?“ McCoy demands, the frown on his face only intensifying the headache, but his face just won't relax.

“At the shipyard, sir.“

Right. There was that stupid idea of signing up for Star Fleet because his ex seemed determined to either get him off the Earth or six feet under earth and he had chosen the lesser of two evils.

He'd arrived in Iowa City last night and decided to spend the night at a motel. It was a surprise he had even managed to call a taxi this morning, considering how hungover he felt. So maybe Jocelyn was right after all and he had a habit of drinking too much under pressure. Big deal.

When he finally manages to open his eyes, the face that greets him seems curious. Not like an annoyed taxi driver that's slightly-worried-but-not-really about his deadbeat passenger, but more like said passenger were a rare creature like that ridiculous unicorn dog that scientists had found on some far-off planet a little while ago. Admittedly, the taxi driver doesn't look much like a taxi driver either and more like a dweeby nerd. Probably some student trying to pay his university fees.

“Right,“ McCoy struggles to sit upright, unbuckling his seat belt before stumbling out of the parked hover car and into the driver who barely manages to catch him.

His knees are weak and the ground feels strange beneath his feet, like walking back on land after a long sea journey. He blinks against the gray-blue sky, the early sunlight stinging his eyes. In the distance he sees the silhouette of a big ass starship.

“I can't take you any further,“ the driver explains, “You need your ID to get past the gates.“

McCoy nods distractedly, fumbling for his duffle bag and the credit chip in his pocket before pulling it out and pointing it at the driver.

“Uh, here, and thanks for having me or whatever,“ he says, tipping more generously than he can probably afford in his current situation, but this fella got him here and didn't freak out over him potentially puking into the car, so that's nice.

He claps the man's shoulder once, tips his imaginary hat at him and then stumbles off towards the gates. The security guards, all stiff and military, eye him up. But it's no wonder since he's covered in stubble and probably smells like a distillery.

With clumsy fingers he pulls the ID from his wallet.

 

“I'm on a list somewhere,“ he explains vaguely, “New recruits and all that.“

The guards exchange a judgmental look but don't say anything as they read the chip and find his name in the system.

“Alright, you can come through, Doctor,“ the left one says and then speaks into his communicator before the gates are opened.

Doctor, McCoy thinks, absurdly amused, What a joke.

“The shuttle to the Academy is on your left,“ the other guard points out and McCoy acknowledges him with a nod, though the thought of essentially going back to school makes him shudder.

He finds the shuttle quickly enough, but keeps eyeing the monster of a machine that is called a flagship in the background. There's a tightening in his stomach as he remembers why he avoided going to Iowa by shuttle in the first place.

There's a lady in front of the shuttle who demands his ID as well, checking him off her list and wishing him a pleasant journey as if this were the beginning of a beach holiday instead of a life-long military operation. Then she indicates him to hand his bag over so it can be safely put away and he's grateful that he can feel the outline of his flask pressing against his chest from the inside of his jacket pocket.

So instead of protesting he just nods numbly. His gaze falls on an older man, higher rank by the looks of it, his hair salt and pepper, his face stern but still kind. He offers McCoy a smile, but his eyes keep flickering around as if he were expecting someone else to show up.

McCoy climbs up the gateway to the shuttle, his footfalls leaden on the metal stairs. From up close the shuttle seems awfully small and fragile. He wonders whether actual starships are that flimsy as well.

Aviophobia, his mind supplies helpfully as if he had swallowed a bloody dictionary. Except that phobias are viewed as irrational fears. He has seen the corpses of people who died in shuttles and the like, so he knows that his fear is anything but irrational.

But there are reasons why he is here, reasons why he does not have a choice and nowhere to go. He swallows hard, calling to mind every single painful detail.

He's lost everything in the divorce. Everything. The house, the practice, and any right of custody he had for Joanna.

His head aches. He's been drinking for the past... hours? Days? Actually, the drinking was probably one of the things Jocelyn had listed as one of the many reasons why he was such a crappy husband and father. The details are kind of fuzzy.

A few things he knows for sure, though.

His name is Leonard McCoy and he is a damn fine doctor.

Whoever says otherwise is a dirty old liar.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you can already tell, but we're wrapping it up here. I'm estimating two more chapters, maybe three. But I promise it will get emotional, especially since we'll return to Dorian and McCoy who may or may not remember his past life...


	7. Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let's say he remembers,” Jim says, something like helpless anger crawling into his voice, “Will he forget everything else that happened in between?"

_"Please don't go, I want you to stay_   
_I'm begging you please, oh please don't leave here"_

**2260 – SOMEWHERE OUT IN SPACE**

With a stuttered breath, Dorian shuts down the footage.

He's shown them all he's seen, all he knows. But there are still so many blanks, so many things that are completely unaccounted for. He still has no idea under what circumstances John disappeared all those years ago and how he eventually ended up on the famous USS Enterprise.

Dorian has heard the stories, of course. About how Captain Kirk and his crew repeatedly saved planet Earth and, by extent, even the Federation. If he'd only paid a little bit more attention, Dorian might have seen pictures of Doctor Leonard McCoy and recognized him for who he was.

But Dorian had stopped relying on his android settings. He didn't simply access and download data whenever he felt like it, didn't save all the information that ever entered his system. For the first time in his existence, Dorian cursed his attempts to be human. If he'd followed the news more closely, he might have been reunited with John ages ago.

But here's another problem: Despite it all, John still doesn't remember him.

 

When Dorian looks up, he finds the faces of Captain Kirk and Commander Spock, pale and serious.

Dorian cannot imagine what kind of shock it must be to realize that your friend had only ever become your friend because he had been stolen from another life. Dorian only knew the agony of having someone stolen. Someone who was more dear than just a friend. Someone who, when confronted with your love, called you crazy and delusional.

But John isn't saying anything now. Instead, he has sunk down on a swivel stool and is holding his head in his hands.

“John,” Dorian says gently, using the same tone that had never failed to coax his lover out of his shell. But there is a first time for everything.

“Don't call me that!” John lashes out, jerking back and jumping up with such a force that the stool almost tips over, as if Dorian's voice had been a hand, reaching out to hurt him.

“Bones,” Kirk speaks up, lifting his own hands in a placating gesture, “I know this is difficult for you, but-”

“The hell you know!” John barks like an animal edged into a corned, “And stop taking his side! Stop talking like you'd rather believe some god damn machine that your best friend.”

“Doctor,” Spock is saying, and the tight control he had over himself belies how upset he must be feeling on the inside. There is a bit of a pause before he seems to decide on a course of action.

“Leonard,” he begins again, “None of this is meant as a personal attack. No one is here to hurt you. The confusion and denial you are experiencing are most likely due to shock.”

“I am a doctor, dammit!” John held a finger up as if to emphasize the point, “You don't get to give me a diagnosis.”

 

“Bones,” Kirk repeats, “We just want you to calm down. Look at this reasonably.”

“There's nothing reasonable about this,” John bites out, “RoboCop here just transfigured some pretty pictures into this crazy ass story. It's easy enough. There's enough news reel footage of me. This is just... an electronic taxidermy. Even I could do that, and I'm crap with computers.”

“Please don't,” Dorian says, closing his eyes. Despite that he can fell their gazes on him, dawn there by how small his voice suddenly sounds.

“I understand that you don't want to acknowledge this as your reality,” he continues quietly, “But don't take away mine. Those are my memories you are talking about, and the best years of my life. Even if I can never have you back, at least leave me this.”

There's a heavy silence hanging in the air, and when Dorian looks up again everyone is standing around awkwardly.

“Fine,” John eventually grits out as if he has come to a desperate decision, giving himself a curt nod, “Fine. You keep your memories, and I'll keep mine. But I'm out of here.”

With those words, John turns away and strides toward the doors of the med bay. Automatically, Dorian half-rises from his seat, and Captain Kirk takes an aborted step forward.

“And don't try to follow me!” John snaps over his shoulder, “Not even you, Jim! Especially not you!”

The door whoosh shut behind him and the other three men are left alone.

“That was highly unreasonable behavior, even for the likes of Doctor McCoy,” Spock comments dryly, but even Dorian can tell that the half-Vulcan is rather upset by the clash.

“He'll come around,” Kirk says a little awkwardly, mostly for Dorian's benefit than for Spock's, “Bones is simply very stubborn.”

“He and John have that in common, then,” Dorian smiles sadly.

 

“Is he... is he a lot like you remember him?” Kirk asks and now he sound a little bit worried. Scared. Dorian can understand why, so he allows his smile to become more reassuring.

“They are not two completely different personalities,” he explains, “Even when he... if he remembers, he will still be your friend.”

He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“The John I knew was... often loud and often angry. He drank too much and took on too many responsibilities. He was a gentlemen, but never a flirt,” Dorian huffs a little, “He was crap at talking about his feelings. But he still always found a way to make me feel loved.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Bones,” Kirk agrees, sounding fond, “I guess in that case, it's only a matter of time.”

Dorian fights to keep the smile on his lips, but fails, lowering his head instead.

In all the years, even when he had known that John couldn't possibly still be alive on a human lifespan, he had occasionally given in to flights of fancy, imagining that they would be reunited. Never, though, had Dorian anticipated that he would not even be recognized. Not to mention all the hurtful things John had said, calling him a machine, an impostor.

But something about that makes Dorian still. His eyes widen.

 

“He called me RoboCop,” he whispers.

“What?” Kirk asks, blinking.

“John called me RoboCop,” Dorian reiterates, “Do you know what that means?”

“It appears to be a blend out of the archaic Terran words robot and law executive officer,” Spock theorizes, “But as to the exact meaning of it-”

“It's a pop culture reference,” Dorian cuts him off, not caring that it's rude. Because of course, Spock wouldn't know, but maybe...

“Have you ever heard of it, Jim?” he asks quickly, “It's an action movie from the 20th century. There were several sequels and remakes.”

But Jim just gives a helpless shrug, “Sorry, no clue.”

“Exactly,” Dorian says, “If you don't know RoboCop, then why would a Starfleet CMO from Georgia use it as an insult?”

Slowly, understanding dawns on Jim's face.

“Bones doesn't know RoboCop,” he breathed, “But John does.”

“He remembers,” Spock realizes, a vague note of surprise in his voice, “Maybe completely, maybe just partially, but at least on a subconscious level some of his memories have returned to him.”

“The question is whether he can just recall the RoboCop from some outdated movie,” Jim wonders and fixes his searching gaze on Dorian, “Or whether he remembers the real deal.”

 

 

The Enterprise is a beautiful ship.

Dorian can tell at least that much as the Captain is giving him the grand tour, but he is aware of little else.

There are some crewmen eyeing him subtly, yet curiously, but none of them seem to realize that Dorian is not quite like them.

Spock is back on the bridge, which Dorian is grateful for in so far that Jim seems more attuned to Dorian's mood and doesn't push, doesn't seem offended that Dorian's only half-listening.

It's strange, Dorian muses. He's never perceived himself as old. He's lost so many years here and there, has gained a lot of experience, but his time spent as a space tramp has made weary in a way that had more to do with loneliness than age.

Now, faced with this sleek ship and its fresh-faced genius crew, he can't help but think back of what humanity had achieved during the past two-hundred years. It's astonishing.

And it's ridiculous, really, because according to the news and gossip galore, Jim Kirk has had his fair share of trouble and trials himself, but when Dorian looks at him he can't see anything but a kid, barely out of his teens.

It's the sparkle in his eyes, Dorian realizes, his shine. Rudy had that same look, even when he grew to be a hundred years old. It was a curiosity, a thirst for life, that no catastrophe could ever destroy. But there was also something of Valerie, jaded and cynical after being mistreated and underestimated for one time too many. Maybe he even shared Sandra's natural ability to lead, her unwavering tenaciousness, though Dorian would have to see more of Kirk to judge that.

He wonders whether John or Bones or whoever had seen all that, too. Whether he had felt drawn towards Jim because some puzzle pieces of his personality reminded him of the bigger picture of a former life.

 

It's in a random hallway that Jim suddenly comes to a stop.

“What if he remembers?” he asks out of the blue, not looking back at Dorian who's come to a stop a step behind him.

The question, however, it too unspecific to answer so Dorian just waits for the human to continue.

“Let's say he remembers,” Jim says, something like helpless anger crawling into his voice, “Will he forget everything else that happened in between? Will he forget me? Or- or will he forget being a doctor? He can't stay on the Enterprise then, he probably won't eve want to. Will you just take him away then? Live your lives, blissful and domestic, until he eventually dies of old age and you're alone again? What's would his legal status be, considering he technically shouldn't exist? What if authorities get a hold of him because he might just be like Khan? What then?”

Jim has talked himself into a frenzy, his fists clenched by his sides, shoulders shaking. Dorian allows him to take a couple of calming breaths before he answers.

“I don't know,” he says simply. It's true. Once, he was the pinnacle of innovation, superior to everything else. Now, he is an outdated piece of tech that plays at being human. He's not equipped for this. No programming or real life experience could ever have prepared him for this scenario.

 

Finally, Jim turns around, just looking at him for a long moment, serious and searching.

“You really love him, don't you?” he asks and it's not even a question, but Dorian answers anyway.

“I can't say 'with all my heart' because I don't actually have one,” he smiles vaguely, “Or 'with everything I am' because, at the moment, I am neither human nor machine. Not even 'from the moment I first saw him' because he was rude and an insufferable ass. But. I've carried him around the whole world with me. And out into space. Even if I know that it would have saved me a whole lot of pain and trouble – I would never wish for an existence where I would not have known him.”

The words feel raw in his mouth, and real.

He's ever acknowledged his feelings like this to another person, maybe not even to himself. Back when John had still been with him, Dorian had made a point of telling him he loved him as often as possible, because John needed to hear it, needed to know that he was cherished and adored. Later, Dorian realized that it hadn't been nearly enough.

“Good,” Jim agrees, slightly nodding to himself, “That's good.”

He's silent again, but only for a moment. Then he fixes Dorian with a stare.

“You know what that means?” he asks and when Dorian shakes his head, a wicked grin spreads on his face.

“There's no way I'm gonna let that amnesic ass miss out on the love of his life.”

Dorian is so surprised that a little laugh escapes him, “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“Attitude is everything,” Jim replies cockily, but then sobers again, “Do you believe in fate, Dorian?”

 

It's an unexpected question, one that makes Dorian falter and think for a moment.

“I... like to think it's not a coincidence that I ran out of fuel just when the Enterprise was near,” he ventures carefully and again Jim gives this little distracted nod as if he were thinking of something else.

“I once had a similar experience,” he admits, sounding somewhat reluctant, “Not like you, of course, but... I found out that there's a parallel universe where... things are different, but the same. I mean-”

He breaks off, seeming shaken.

“Maybe some people are just supposed to meet, no matter the circumstances,” he continues, slightly more collected, “Maybe sometimes the universe doesn't conspire against you, but for you. Maybe sometimes things just work out that way.”

“I'd like that,” Dorian admits softly and Jim gives him an encouraging smile.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the terribly long wait. I offer no excuses except for the fact that the cancelation of AH has forced me to get over my obsession so that I wouldn't keep living with the pain. ;__;  
> This was a short chapter which makes the wait seem even worse, but the next one will be longer and the last one. It also has a lot of Spock/Bones interaction and is halfway done, so no worries about me not finishing.  
> Thanks so much for everyone who kept commenting and asking for a continuation, I don't think I could have done it without something to motivate me. :)


	8. Leonard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He's a robot, Spock,” he hedges, tired of having to spell out what exactly that means.  
> “And you used to call me a computer,” Spock reminds him, his smile both gentle and strained, “It seems we are capable of feelings after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, decided to split the chapter because of POVs and then there's gonna be an epilogue, so yay for ten chapters?

_“I don't want you to change for all the hurt that you feel“_

 

**2260 – SOMEWHERE OUT IN SPACE**

McCoy is sitting in a corner of the darkened observational deck. Apart from him, it's completely deserted as it's between second and third shift and no one has any business up here.

Usually, this is Jim's place, the spot where he comes to brood or sulk or just reminisce, where he reminds himself of the wonders of the universe when everything else seems to fail him.

Even after all this time, McCoy has never become a fan of space and certainly not an enthusiast like every other god damn member of the crew seems to be, but he can appreciate the stars for their beauty and the observational deck for the solitude it currently offers.

Or so he thought.

“I thought I told you not to follow me,“ he sighs with mild annoyance, not bothering to turn around.

The tall, composed figure reflected in the transparent aluminum window gives a small acknowledging nod.

“I felt that order was mostly directed at Jim and our guest,” Spock replies primly, “Also, when have I ever done what you've told me, Doctor?”

“Fair point,” Bones grumbles and then, just out of spite, adds, “Green-blooded hobgoblin.”

Apparently, Spock seems to take this as an invitation because without much further ado, he gracefully rounds the bench and takes the seat next to McCoy.

It's closer than they would usually sit, closer still made by the fact that they rarely spent any of their downtime together, especially not when Jim is not with them to act as a buffer between their vastly contrasting natures.

“You're deep in thought,“ Spock resorts to pointing out the obvious and McCoy doesn't refrain from rolling his eyes.

“Yes, I've been contemplating how it's a good thing you're not captain because command yellow would be quite an eyesore when combined with your sickly skin tone.“

“I agree whole-heartedly,“ Spock replies with an air of amusement about him, “Though the Captain informed me that it is indeed called command gold and is a very dignified color, as opposed to the powdery blue of the sciences.“

“Of course he would say that, the little bastard,“ McCoy huffs and shakes his head.

For a while they lapse into silence, amicable enough, but strained by the fact that the elephant in the room is trampling all over it.

“May I speak openly, Leonard?” Spock asks and McCoy can tell he's getting out the big guns now because the Vulcan rarely calls him by his first name.

“Can I stop you?“ McCoy snorts and angles his face away.

“I will not give advice where none is welcome,” Spock points out, “It would be a waste of time and breath.”

“Fine, fine,” McCoy rolls his eyes once more, “Get on with it then. Tell me how I should go and accept the love of that glorified tamagochi.“

“... I am afraid that I am not familiar with that term,“ Spock allows, as always reluctant to admit his short-comings.

“It's an Earth thing,“ McCoy waves his hand about a bit, “A children's toy. You start out with this facsimile of an egg, and then you have to hatch it and everything, until you eventually end up with a robotic pet. Was pretty popular when I was- when I was...“

He flounders and breaks off.

When I was in my teens, he wanted to say. But that is not right. That... just doesn't make sense. Not unless he is willing to acknowledge that there was even a speck of truth to what Dorian had claimed.

And it's difficult to even think of him like that, of conscious being with a name where there should only be a serial number. Calling him Dorian just feels much too intimate.

Spock seems unperturbed by the sudden break and picks up seamlessly where he left off.

“We have reasons to believe that you actually do remember at least parts of your former identity,“ he explains bluntly, “And quite obviously you have come to realize that as well.“

“I... I don't remember anything,“ McCoy tries to deflect but at Spock's reprimanding look he lets his head sink.

“Not... directly, at least,“ he amends, “None of that stuff we were shown. That just gave me a ringing headache. But... it's like there is this vague knowledge of things I've never even thought about. And it's just hanging there, at the fringes of my consciousness, but when I try to make a grab for it, it's always just of out reach. Damned frustrating, that.“

“So you have had your own suspicions raised after all, yet you are unwilling to pursue them,“ Spock sounds not just disapproving but downright disappointed of him as a fellow scientist, “I have to say I would have expected more of you.“

“Oh, don't get all high and mighty with me,“ McCoy growls, throwing him a sideways glare, “I know you don't think much of emotions, but minr are in a bit of a jumble at the moment.“

“A state which I can very much relate to, much to my regret,“ Spock says haughtily, though McCoy doesn't miss the underlying hurt in it, “And I am aware that you are a highly emotional being, even more so than the Captain himself. And that is saying something.“

They both take a moment to share a small private smile, born out of the camaraderie that only taking care of one James T. Kirk can promote.

“But because of that I cannot understand your reasoning,“ Spock continues, “You have been offered something. Something wonderful and frightening. And yet you choose to ignore this chance and instead direct your anger at those you try to help you.“

“Well, who else would I get angry at?“ McCoy asks grimly, very pointedly not thinking of a supposed ex-girlfriend and an underground organization that destroyed so many lives.

“Get angry at _them_ ,“ Spock near hisses and suddenly there is this change in demeanor in him, this spite and ruthlessness that McCoy has only seen twice before, “Get angry at those who willingly hurt you and cast you aside.“

“Well, what good would it do?“ he hisses, finding himself incensed by the Vulcan's unexpected ferocity, “They are most likely all dead! How should I get justice? Or revenge? If any of that story is true, then I would have been better off not knowing.“

“But now you do know,“ Spock reminds him, not pulling his punches, “Can you truly walk away from that? From the knowledge that you had something and that they took it from you and you didn't regain it because you were too scared?”

McCoy cannot quite tell whether Spock is goading him on or just outlining the circumstances, even if his tone is somewhat removed from his usual professionalism.

“But I won't really get it back,” McCoy grouches, “Instead, I might lose everything else. What if I forget my expertise? Who'll save Jim's ass then? Because God knows you will be a little bit overwhelmed when you're on your own.”

“I admit the Captain is quite a handful,” Spock acknowledges and suddenly he is back to himself, straight-laced and a little stiff, “But I must ask you – what would you do if the situations were reversed?”

  
At that, McCoy frowns, “Reversed how?”

“What if Jim forgot, for example, me,” Spock theorizes as he is wont to do, his gaze fixed straight ahead as if he had just now remembered that they had the universe at their fingertips and he could discenr all its secrets if he only looked hard enough, “Wouldn't you do everything in your power to make him remember?”

“That's hardly comparable,” McCoy huffs, “Firstly, there would be actual proof that you knew each other, instead of some runalong robot's insane story. Secondly, telling Jim you were friends is a bit different from me being confronted with the idea that I had an illicit affair with an android, isn't it?”

He waits for a new slew of arguments, but nothing comes. Instead, Spock just keeps on staring ahead, hands on his knees.

“... Isn't it?” Bones repeats, but even as the words leave his mouth, the puzzle pieces are slowly clicking into place.

“My relationship with the Captain is of a manifold and intricate nature,” Spock offers in a slightly strangled voice, and when McCoy catches sight of the green blush tinting his cheekbones he feels himself pale in return.

“You're having me on,” he gapes, eyes wide, “You and Jim?”

Spock only gives a curt nod.

“Since when?”

“Shortly after you declared him fully recovered from the incident in the warp core,” Spock admits. He's never acknowledged Jim's death before, not directly. It's always 'after the incident' or 'after Khan'. But that's not what McCoy is focusing on here.

“That long?!” he boggles, “That was over a year ago!”

“I asked Jim for discretion,” Spock responds, “Which he has agreed to. You are still the first to know.”

“Unbelievable,” McCoy shakes his head and crosses his arms, “But I guess I should have seen it coming.”

“Pardon?”

“The way you orbit each other,” McCoy tries to explain, “How you disagree on something and then share this uncomfortably long look and by the end of it you seem to have had an entire conversation without ever saying anything, and then the matter is settled. And when he died-”

Here, Spock flinches, barely noticeable but there nonetheless.

“You were out of your mind. Like a feral animal. Even when Uhura finally got through to you. But then, when his heart started beating and his brain activity picked up, it was like a switch. Suddenly, you were there again. Still in pieces, but... as if something was gluing you back together from the inside.”

“That was Jim,” Spock says softly and McCoy blinks a couple of times, trying to comprehend the meaning.

“My mind reached out to his, and his towards mine,” Spock elaborates, “We healed each other, so to speak.”

“You mean like... like a bond?” the doctor tries to makes sense of it, recalling what M'Benga had told him all that time ago when Vulcan had turned into stardust and her survivors into catatonic statues.

“I did not yet know it before,” Spock says, and it's not quite an affirmation but close enough, “Maybe I would never have openly acknowledged it under different circumstances, or only many years later. But that day... that pain... I knew that I could not live even a minute without him by my side.”

McCoy knows why Spock is suddenly telling him all this, and certainly not because they have such heart-warming conversations all of the time. This isn't about Jim and Spock right not, not really anyway.

  
“He's a robot, Spock,” he hedges, tired of having to spell out what exactly that means.

“And you used to call me a computer,” Spock reminds him, his smile both gentle and strained, “It seems we are capable of feelings after all.”

McCoy's breath catches at that, startled by the streak of romanticism that Spock had never revealed before. But maybe it is not surprising that it is Spock who would relate to Dorian, a being caught between two worlds and never quite accepted in either.

Jim has accepted him, though. His Vulcan side and his Human side and the fragile balance that Spock attempts to maintain at all times.

Nowadays, it is mostly McCoy who harrows him for not being human enough. But now that there is someone who tries to be human for him, they are not human enough either.

His headache is starting up again and he rubs the heels of his thumbs over his aching eyes.

“Even if... if I wanted to,“ he says carefully, not allowing himself or Spock to suss out whether he actually does want, “Then I still don't remember. Should I – what? Start dating a guy on the off chance that there is still some chemistry between us? Or, hell, circuitry?“

When Spock answers, he sounds hesitant but not without hope, “There are... ways. Ways to make you remember. But they pose risks.“

McCoy's eyes narrow, “What kind of risks?“

“Lingering affects on personality and emotional disposition,“ Spock lists calmly, “Memory loss or resurfacing of past untreated trauma. Also, vomiting.“

“Can you do it?“ McCoy wants to know before he even quite realizes that he is considering the idea of trying it at all.

“I've been adequately schooled,“ Spock, “But it might be a safer option to consult specialists on New Vulcan and-“

“Okay,“ McCoy says in a rush and when it's out they both just blink at each other for a moment, surprised at the sudden change of heart.

  
“Would you like me to inform Jim of our new course or-“

“No!“ McCoy cuts him off so vehemently that Spock even flinches a little.

Now that he has made up his mind, he cannot risk chickening out again. It has to be done now, and with that knowledge a heavy weight seems to be lifted off his chest.

“I want you to do it,“ he adds when Spock still seems put off by his outburst, but the revelation only makes the Vulcan pull up his shoulders a little, leveling him with a considering stare.

“I am not a mind-healer,” Spock warns him at length, “So this might be a dangerous interference and will definitely constitute as a breach of privacy. My presence in your mind might be viewed as invasive, even violating, especially if you are reluctant. Furthermore-”

“Just do it, dammit!” Bones snaps, grabbing Spock's clothed wrist and dragging it up to his face.

“Very well,” Spock relents, though he still appears stiff.

“I would ask you to enter a state of meditation to minimize your emotional output, but... well.”

Bones recognizes a taunt when he hears one, but it's a fond one, and there is a tiny smile hiding in the corner of Spock's mouth, so he lets it slip.

“Haven't got all day, you pointy-eared nuisance,” he urges instead and Spock inclines his head, spreading the fingers of his right hand in the way Bones has occasionally see him do with other individuals.

“My mind to your mind,” he recites and then his fingers already splay wide on Bones' frowning face.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know McSpock was so fun to write. Really enjoyed this chapter. Especially adorkable Spock in love.  
> Guess whose POV we'll have next time. Finally. ;-)


	9. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I may throw up on you,“ he tells Spock who seems torn between wanting to inch away and making sure that he is not actually dying.

_“The world is just illusion, trying to change you“_

 

He's afraid of opening his eyes because his head hurts like hell. Like after graduation when the team spent an entire week binge drinking. It's awful. It's death.

“Leonard,“ a mildly alarmed voice is saying, and that's just weird. Both the name and that voice.

He frowns, reluctantly cracking his eyes open after all. There's barely any light around, but it burns anyway. With a grimace he blinks up at the person sitting across from him.

It's a stranger with pointy ears and it's also Spock who, of course, has pointy ears and right now a hilariously worried expression on his face.

Holy shit. This is seriously the weirdest. And he has attended a wedding ceremony on Rigel, so that's saying something.

It's like seeing double, but worse. It's thinking double. His head spins.

“I may throw up on you,“ he tells Spock who seems torn between wanting to inch away and making sure that he is not actually dying.

“Do you remember?“ the Vulcan asks instead and he grunts, “Yeah.“

Spock stills and intently looks at him, but doesn't say anything else. It takes him a moment to realize that it's probably because he didn't clarify what exactly he remembers.

“Everything,“ he adds and feels a tiny grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “I remember everything. Both of them, of me.“

Spock lets out a, for his standard, rather obvious sigh of relief and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he is smiling as well.

“In that case, welcome to the 23rd century, Detective Kennex,“ he says politely, and with a slightly mischievious glint in his eyes he adds, “And welcome home, Leonard.“

Seriously, so strange.

But he's laughing now, doubling over with it, slightly hysterical even, but Spock's hand is on his shoulder, steadying and calm, and who would have thought he'd ever be friends with an alien? Because neither John nor Bones ever saw it coming.

“I should accompany you to MedBay,“ Spock says, standing up and helping him to his feet as well, “You need rest, a thorough examination, and a psychological evaluation before you can move around freely, much less return to duty.“

Spock sounds a little annoyed with himself, as if he's only now realizing what kind of trouble he's brought on, but neither doctor nor detective care about that right now.

“Sorry, Spock,“ he says cockily, “But I've never been good at following orders.“

Something flickers across Spock's face then, probably a realization along the lines of 'Oh no, he's like Jim', but that only makes him grin even wider.

He winks at Spock, winks at him, and then he is already staggering away to leave the deck, slightly wobbly on his feet because prosthesis plus mind whammy plus artificial gravity equals big no no. But honestly, he can't care less.

He navigates the rounded hallways with ease, recognizes faces left and right, but never stops. There's only one person he wants to talk to right now, and he has a suspicion where he might be.

Spock's following him at a distance, probably just to make sure that he doesn't collapse and bash his head in after the whole ordeal, but he just keeps walking, his gait gaining more confidence.

 

While the observational deck had been empty, the mess hall is rather crowded. But he knows his way around, and the table where the command crew usually gathers is right there.

Jim seems to be engaged in a quiet conversation with Uhura and they both seem worried. Chekov and Scotty seem to have taken an interest in Dorian and are obviously bombarding him with questions, no doubt about how 21st century technology and his hybrid status of not quite being a machine anymore.

Dorian himself seems amused and indulgently answers everything, explaining that like a human he can run on regular nutrition, proving the point by snatching up Scotty's sandwich and taking a large bite. That only causes a new onslaught of queries, so it's Sulu who eventually lifts his head and notices him, before not so subtly elbowing Jim in the side.

It's hard to guess how much Jim and Dorian have told the other about the current situation, but it's apparently enough for everyone to know that their CMO had previously been disinclined to join them for dinner. His sudden appearance makes them exchange uncertain glances and no one says anything.

Apart from Dorian that is, who just keeps explaining the differences between transforming fructose and glucose into fuel, seemingly not at all bothered by how Chekov is now ducking his head and Scotty is sitting with an open mouthful of sandwich.

The rest of the crew in the mess hall doesn't pick up on the change in atmosphere, however, and that is a bit of a relief. He doesn't want to cause much of a scene after all.

“Bones,“ Jim says carefully, but then his gaze is already flickering to Spock at his shoulder as if to look for a clue of what has happened. And who the hell even knows how Vulcan mind bonds even work. Maybe they can actually properly converse through their eyes, it wouldn't be much of a surprise.

“I'm alright Jim,“ he waves him off calmly. Talking to Jim can be postponed for now, though he'll doubtlessly still get an earful later, though Jim had never quite reached the same level of indignant self-righteousness in his sermons.

He takes a deep breath, hands on his hips, steeling his features into an inscrutable mask, “But I have another question for our guest.“

At that Dorian finally falls silent. There's something slightly defeated in the line of his shoulders and in the way it takes a moment for him to muster a smile and look up.

“I shall answer to the best of my knowledge,“ he replies in that same pleasant mellow voice he's been using all day, and that just won't do.

“There's one more thing I'd like to know,“ he demands, tone unyielding, but the muscles in his cheek keep twitching for a smile, “One more thing about this crazy story of yours.“

“Yes,“ Dorian nods, blue gaze lowering a little, “Anything.“

“Good,“ he nods to himself, “Then tell me this – who's a happy toaster?“

For a moment, Dorian does not react. He does not tense, does not look up. Then, he starts trembling.

But a flash later – a flash in which he has apparently leaped across the table – Dorian is right there in front of him, real and warm and vivid.

“John,“ he cries and those are actual tears on his face, “Oh, John.“

John gets an armful of android then, and Dorian sobbing against his shoulder.

“You remember,“ he gasps, the words faint and disbelieving, “You remember me.“

“You're not getting rid of me that easily,“ John quips, but already his bravado is breaking and his voice along with it. For a moment, he attempt to fight his own tears. But they've waited two-hundred years for this moment. He does not care whether anyone sees him cry.

“I've missed you,“ he whispers hoarsely against Dorian's neck, and it's the truth. He might not have remembered, not consciously, but somehow he always knew that a part of him was missing. And now, through the strange intricate workings of the universe, it had been returned to him.

“I'm sorry for not being able to save you,“ he adds because that will forever-on be his greatest regret, leaving Dorian all alone in the world.

“I'm sorry for all the hurts you've had to endure,“ Dorian says in turn, even though none of it was ever his fault.

By now, Jim has gotten up as well, a bit of apprehension still left in him but undeniable relief as well. He's standing next to Spock, placing a hand on his shoulder, and it's not much, but now that Spock has admitted to their relationship it seems like a lot more.

“There's still much to talk about,“ Jim says and doesn't have to mention that he's already planning to bend the rules once more, “But that can wait.“

They'll have to figure out what the tell certain Starfleet officials and whether to tell them at all. Figure out how to make sure that Doctor McCoy won't lose his license and that Detective Kennex will still get some justice in one way or the other. But most of all, John has to figure out whether the insides of Dorian's mouth still taste the same.

“Jim, Spock,“ Dorian says in that moment, taking a step back from John but not letting go of him. He's still a bit unsteady, but beaming as well, “Thank you for believing me. Thank you for everything.“

Spock only inclines his head in acknowledgment, but Jim gives a font smile.

“It's good to see Bones back in the arms of someone who loves him,“ he just says and gets a glare in return, “Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a dime novel heroine!“

“I have already ascertained that is virtually unchanged,“ Spock comments dryly, “Much to my lament.“

“Shut it, hobgoblin.“

“Case in point.“

 

That night, they stay awake for a long time, just talking, breathing each other in, looking at what they had thought lost.

For now, McCoy has been relieved from duty because of a mild case of Orion influenza, as the records state, but really it's just so they can have more time to figure everything out, and then he still needs to be properly evaluated to see if he is fit for the job. He knows he is, though, even if no one has a clue who turned him into a doctor and why they sent him on to Starfleet. But he is a doctor, with all of his being, even if he know can wield a gun as efficiently as his scalpel.

There are still so many blanks they have to fill in, so much that still doesn't make sense and maybe never will.

And John has always been a man who's had a certain kind of anger in him, thrumming and unquenchable. A thirst for revenge, too, after all the wrongs that he had suffered. But most of that is gone, at least for the moment.

There's no point in holding on to vengeance when he's got Dorian in his arms and in his life once more.

And they have both lost Sandra and Val and Rudy and many others, but now John can show Dorian what he has gained in return. Because John was never truly alone, not from the moment he sat down next to some hick-town kid on a shuttle to San Francisco and gained a fast friend and an annoying nickname.

Dorian has been adrift for a long time, though, and he deserves a home.

The Enterprise can be that, John realizes, and it's crew is already a family anyway.

“Stay with me,“ he whispers to Dorian, and it's a promise and a plea and and invitation.

“Always,“ Dorian replies, and it's the same.

 


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The blissful future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded two chapters today, so make sure you read the one before this, so you're not missing the climax.

“I still think this whole pon farr business sounds rather suspicious,“ John complains once more, just for good measure, and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Next to him, Dorian sighs, “It's in Spock's nature. He can't fight against it.“

“Then why does he have to fight Jim instead?“ John demands, “Have you seen the boy? He doesn't stand a chance against the hobgoblin. They've been in a fistfight before and for the most part the brat was busy drooling blood all over Sulu's console.“

“It's not an actual fight,“ Dorian reminds him, “It's part of the ceremony and Spock proving himself to be a worthy mate. Jim will surrender after a few minutes.“

“And I thought what they do on Rigel is messed up,“ John buries his face in his hands, “But what does Jim do? Treat it like a marriage proposal and act the giddy bride. That idiot.“

“Spock will take good care of him,“ Dorian points out gently and that just makes John shudder, “Great. Now I'm thinking of their wedding night. Thanks.“

“Shall I distract you?“ Dorian asks then and the playful note in his question is enough to make clear just what kind of distraction he was considering.

John gives him a look, “We are on duty, nurse.“

“And considering that most of the crew is currently on shore leave while our resident trouble makers are busy with each other, I doubt that we'll have any emergencies coming up,“ Dorian tries to tempt him.

“Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that,“ John shakes a finger at him, “I hear they've introduced shelats to New Vulcan's wildlife and let me tell you, those beasts are vicious. I hear Spock kept one as a child, and any pet to survive that little monster has to be an even bigger monster.“

“So... no quickie on the exmination table?“ Dorian prods, letting his hand run over the smooth surface of said table.

“That's unsanitary,“ John points out dryly.

“Not as unsanitary as when Sulu showed up covered in that weird gooey pollen that kept dripping everywhere,“ Dorian grins, “Also, I made sure were are stocked up on enough sanitizer to cleanse the entire bay.“  
“... I'm not sure whether that makes you a good nurse or a bad one.“

“A very bad one,“ Dorian says in a completely exaggerated voice, “A kinky one.“

“And I don't even want to know what kind of holo vid you got that from,“ John whines and throws his hands up, “And our shift is over in a few minutes anyways. You should be able to wait that long.“

At that, Dorian lets out a drawn-out sigh and plops down on one of the stools, “You're no fun. What about the guy who had a dirty affair with an official police bot, right under the nose of his superiors?“

“He is having a steady relationship with a rookie nurse, right under the nose of his superiors who are currently engaging in some weird mating ritual in the hot sands of New Vulcan. Oh dear God, now the mental image is stuck in my head.“

But Dorian is just pouting at him, “I'm not a rookie anymore. I've been a nurse for almost a year.“

“And you will be a rookie until you've sewn someone's innards back together with a toothpick and a bit of floss.“

“Is that possible?“ Dorian asks curiously and John just shrugs, “This is the Enterprise. Anything is possible.“

“But no sex in MedBay?“

“Not as long as it's my MedBay.“

“Not even a blowjob?“

“Lord Almighty, we need to tweak your hormone intake,“ John moans, “Your sex drive is worse than a teenager's.“

Dorian just grins saucily at him. Since they've started on the treatment, Dorian has pretty much been going through puberty and he's become uppity and occasionally moody which is driving John nuts and also robs him of his sleep. Because Dorian is horny. All of the time.

“I'm too old for this,“ he says to himself, rubbing his temple.

“Going on three-hundred years now, aren't you,“ Dorian teases and John had never thought it possible, but it doesn't hurt anymore.

He's okay with the fact that he has lost a life twice over, that he was ripped from his reality and that there is so much about his past that is unaccounted for. He's okay with the knowledge that he got fucked over and that he's a mess and that he'll never have justice.

In short, he is just okay. There's lingering PTSD, but Spock has been helping him with that. He's got fake credentials and IDs and Jim has been helping him with that. He's got a boyfriend who's becoming more and more human, and who plays at being a nurse, and who's a familiar source of warmth when he wakes up in the middle of the night and doesn't know what name to call himself.

Life's good. Better than either John or Leonard ever thought possible.

In that moment, the doors whoosh open and M'Benga and Tzu enter, greeting them with friendly smiles.

“Shift's over!“ Dorian only croons and grabs John by the elbow, pulling him along and into the hallway.

“I still have to fill the data log,“ John objects, futilely fighting against the strong hold.

“Already did that while you were still grumbling about stupid Vulcans and pon farr,“ Dorian replies happily, in no way deterred.

“You are horrible,“ John groans, but Dorian just glances back over his shoulder and offers him a bright smile, “But you love me anyway.“

At that, John cannot prevent a smile of his own spreading over his face.

“God help me,“ he laughs, shaking his head in disbelief of his own lucky fortune, “I do.“

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's it. Just something silly to give you an idea what their future might look like.  
> There's probably still tons of plotholes which I'm terribly sorry about. It's just that since we never really got a lot of answers for AH, and since Into Darkness didn't makes much sense in some regards either, it's rather difficult to weave a concise story around all that. ^^'  
> It's been exactly a year since I posted th efirst chapter, which is a terribly long time for a relatively short thing, but considering it was originaly meant as a twoshot, I'm quite happy with the way it turned out.  
> Thanks to all who patiently stuck with me and those who have only joined now. Your feedback got me going whenever I hit rock-bottom. :)


End file.
